Journal | Corie Adjmi

November 17, 2015

What Kids Don't Know About Their Parents

What do children know about their parents? I mean, really know about them. The thought was sparked recently when I mentioned to my 24-year-old daughter that I couldn’t wait for the weekend so I could begin to read the stack of books on my desk. “Really? You’re into it?” she asked. “Yes, why?” “I saw a Post-it on top of the books. I thought you were miserable about it.” This is what she saw... I had written myself a note, a reminder, to buy Stephen King’s book, Misery. How often do misunderstandings like this happen? How often do parents transmit a message that is not true? Years ago, I wrote about my 8-year-old son asking, “Mommy, when did you turn Jewish?” in an essay with that same name. Throughout his life, he heard my husband and I debate how religion should be expressed and explored in our home, and as a result, my child did not understand where I stood. He did not understand based on what he'd heard that I’d always been Jewish, and that I had a strong sense of Judaism. And so on Purim, when we baked homemade hamentash, he was confused, and asked me that question. Just as easily, he could’ve wondered to himself, not asked the question at all, and not given me the opportunity to explain. Over and over again, parents are assured (or warned) that if we are ourselves, our children will know who we are, whether we want them to or not. But what if they get conflicting messages? What if they only know part of a story? I spent a lot of time researching this topic because now that I have adult children, I want them to know me, the real me, not some fake version, a projected, fantasized view that keeps me stuck in a specific role. I want them to know me with all my flaws and strengths and everything else that makes me human. But there was nothing. I mean nothing. I could not find one article about this topic. No matter what sequence of words I strung together, every article I found focused on parents knowing their children, and not the other way around. I found articles titled: What All Children Want Their Parents to Know, Relating to Adult Children and The Bill of Rights for Parents of Adults. Of course, it’s important for parents to know their children or, at least, attempt to, especially if you are interested in an intimate relationship; but why is it so difficult, or undervalued or maybe even taboo for children to know their parents? My kids think they know me — and to a large degree they do. But I think they, along with children around the globe, fill in the spaces with their own ideas, create their own narrative, project and assume. I’d like to change that. I think this blog post is my first step.

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November 10, 2015

Museums, Culture and New York City

Like a squirrel storing up food for winter, I’ve been preparing too. In the last month, fearful of the upcoming, sometimes brutal, New York winter, I’ve been hoarding experiences; attending cultural institutions and events maximizing consumption for when reserves are low or, more precisely, for when I’m hibernating and can’t motivate myself to leave the house. So while, for me, cold weather is certainly not the best part of New York City, the city's range of cultural offerings is a gift. In the last month, I’ve been to a number of readings and heard authors discuss their new books. Mary Karr- The Art of Memoir Nicole Dweck- The Debt of Tamar Elizabeth Gilbert- Big Magic And I’ve been to museums. At the New York Botanical Garden I saw the Frida Kahlo exhibit. In an attempt to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit, I went to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden because I didn't know the New York Botanical Garden was a different place. I learned that day that there is a botanical garden in the Bronx, and also that even though I was in the wrong place, the Brooklyn Botanical Garden is beautiful. Next door, I visited the The Brooklyn Museum and saw the Faile exhibit, which was exciting and inspirational. The below made me want to run home and paint. These painted pinball machines brought me back to my childhood and I couldn't wait to play in this dizzying yet electrifying atmosphere. That same day, at the Brooklyn Museum, I stumbled on The Rise of Sneaker Culture. It was a fabulous bonus. Seeing a pair of white and green striped Adidas sneakers from when I was young and the Michael Jordon's my kids wore made me sentimental, but also reflective as I realized the inspiration behind the designer, all-black ones I happened to be wearing that day. The new Whitney Museum which opened in the meatpacking district is gorgeous and when standing outside, on a terrace, you can see all at once: the Statue of Liberty, the Hudson River, the Freedom Tower and the Empire State Building. Picasso sculptures are still on display at the MOMA. The exhibit runs until February 7, 2016. I am a huge Picasso fan and recommend you visit the museum before it's too late. The fun continued at the Society of Illustrators in an exhibition titled: Batman: Black and White. I visited all these places, and more, in a fervor, trying to soak it all in before it was too late, before the cold set in, or before my sometimes winter blues got the best of me. I did this instinctively, a form of survival. (I'm saving television series for the middle of winter, stocked up, how women for generations before me preserved peaches.) Ironically, I’m as confused as the bears and the squirrels must be because it’s November 8 and 65 degrees outside. I don’t know about them but I couldn’t be happier! An additional note: The Faile exhibit at The Brooklyn Museum was supported by Allouche Gallery, which is scheduled to open in a new location, 86 Gansevort Street in New York City in early 2016. You can expect to see work by Faile, Dustin Yellin, Swoon and Keith Haring. I will be venturing out to visit, despite the cold, because it's going to be worth it!

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November 2, 2015

Free To Be You and Me

One Halloween, I dressed up as Cinderella, a different time- a nurse, but my all-time favorite costume was an old lady. I wore my hair pulled back into a bun sprinkled with baby powder. I wore a crochet shawl and walked hunched over a cane. Was that offensive? Was that ageism? According to some, dressing in a costume that is other than what you are should be avoided. But isn’t that what dress up is about? Isn’t it about trying on something different than who or what you are? Some schools are advising their students against borrowing from other cultures. See- The New York Times article: Costume Correctness on Campus: Free to Be You, But Not Me. The message: It is dangerous to pretend. Really? Since when? Was it sexism when, at 18, I dressed as a black cat wearing only a black leotard and stockings, high heels and a tail? I looked more like a Playboy Bunny. But Halloween was the time I got to pretend or play I was something I wasn’t. And it wasn’t pejorative or prejudice or mockery. It was curiosity. I have a male friend who, one Halloween dressed as a mutual female friend. He wore a long blonde wig. But this year, according to the above-mentioned article, it’s a no-no to dress in drag or as Caitlyn Jenner. The associate editor of Lenny, an online newsletter, wrote in an email, “Dressing up as Pocahontas (or sexy Pocahontas, let’s get real), is offensive because it takes the whitewashed version of a whole group of people that have been victimized and abused in their own land,” and presents it as “ a thing one can try for a night.” Yes! That’s the point! Pretending. Playing. That’s why we dress up, starting in pre-school. Play is essential for children. (See- Let the Children Play.) But it is also important for adults. Stuart Brown, president of the National Institute for Play believes after decades of research, that there are dangerous long-term consequences of play deprivation. And he believes play is essential for all people, at all ages, at all times. Dressing up is a form of play (role play) that requires imagination, fosters learning and may, actually, increase empathy. When you dress up you are stepping into someone else’s shoes, or trying to, even if for just for one night. Of course there are people who use Halloween as an excuse to ridicule and that’s never acceptable except for the time when someone I know dressed up as Sarah Palin. That was mockery. (And totally acceptable.) But is it ridicule when a young child, in an elite private school, wears a toolbelt and dresses up as a carpernter? Where do we draw the line? Nobody wants to be accused of ageism, sexism, racism or being insensitive. So let’s use our heads. Intent matters. When my daughter (who is white) wanted to be Scary Spice (who is not), it was all based on awe and admiration. She didn’t want to be Baby Spice. Should she not have been allowed to explore the Scary Spice persona? In my mind, it would’ve been discriminatory, and just plain wrong, to tell her she had to be one of the white spice girls. As children try out different roles (karate kid, superhero, celebrity, carpenter, doctor, nurse, chef, mother) they are solidifying their own identity. Maybe adults are too.

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October 27, 2015

Slavery Today

This week, I found myself reflecting back to a day in 1974. I was ten. A friend, Vicky, and I walked in her neighborhood, near her house. A car pulled up and the driver called us over. He asked for directions. It took a few seconds before I noticed; he was exposed and stroking himself. When the man drove away, Vicky and I ran and hid behind bushes. Peeking through the greenery, we watched as the man circled the block. He slowed, looking for us. Petrified, we stayed out of sight. We waited for the man to drive away again before we ran back to Vicky’s house. Her mother called the police and when they showed up, they asked us questions. Looking back, I think we were awfully lucky. Crouching behind those bushes, in essence, made us sitting ducks. At the time, I weighed less than 90 pounds and, in my memory, the man who exposed himself to us looms large. The scary truth is that story could've ended differently. Some kids are not as lucky. That unpleasant experience occurred just a few years before Etan Patz disappeared and he, and other missing children, appeared on milk cartons. Those disturbing memories were elicited with the release of the movie, Room, based on the novel written by Emma Donoghue. (I read the book, Room, a few years back and recommend it.) The story is about a mother and son held captive in a small room. The book is fiction but it is based on a true story. Here’s the thing that many people don’t know: Slavery exists today. And it exists in many countries, including the United States. Cases of human trafficking have been reported in all 50 states. Children are sometimes forced to work in brothels, in sweatshops, in houses as domestic servants, in wars as child soldiers, on farms and in strip clubs. Putting a stop to all forms of child trafficking is critical to UNICEF's work around the world. Stop Child Trafficking Now (also called SCTNow) is a nonprofit international organization that does advocacy work attempting to bring an end to child trafficking. SCTNow targets those who sexually abuse children and aims to prosecute and convict them. Years ago, I read The Slave Next Door by Kevin Bals and Ron Soodalter. The Slave Next Door explores human trafficking and slavery that exists in the United States today. The book is a call to action, letting us know what we can do to bring an end to these horrific crimes.

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October 20, 2015

Dating After 50

“I’m bi now,” Jasmine told Pam and me. Jasmine was a make-up artist at Barney’s. (I did not "make-up" her fairytale name to serve this post.) For fun, Pam and I went there before her first date in over 25 years. Her husband, Sandy, an Emmy Award-winning television writer, best-dad and husband, all around great guy, had passed away a year before. "I’m bi by choice,” Jasmine continued. “Women are more honest, more compassionate. Men are little boys. You," she said to Pam, as she dabbed her eyelids with cover-up, "have great energy." And it’s true, Pam does have great energy. What she didn’t have was a How To manual for dating. The last time she dated, Boy George was a hit singing Karma Chameleon and Blockbuster Video was opening their first store. A lot has changed since then. For instance: Men don’t come to the door to pick up women anymore. They don’t bring their date home. They might, or might not, pay for the meal, or more likely drinks, because a meal, it turns out, is too big of a commitment. “You’re going to be fine,” Jasmine said to Pam. “You’re an alpha-female.” In this strange new world, Pam as a single woman, it was hard to discern if Jasmine was flirting. That night, Pam’s date was lovely. As men of his generation did, he picked her up, and they went to a restaurant together. Once there, confident and comfortable in her own skin, Pam read the menu with her reading glasses on. Not the skinny bitch type, she wasn’t about to order a salad and a piece of grilled fish—dry. She wasn’t that kind of girl. No, she ordered eggplant parmesan just as an alpha-female should. Pam feeling relaxed, took her shoes off under the table. The evening went well enough. Until it was time to go. Maybe there was too much salt in the food or maybe it was because Pam had flown in from California that morning, but when she attempted to put her shoes back on she couldn’t. Her feet mysteriously blew up, and both her pinky toes refused to be crammed into her shoes. Her date locked arms with her as she hobbled, her pinky toes dangling, to a taxi outside. When my husband heard what happened, he laughed and said, “That’s reverse Cinderella!” Dating can be tough but dating after 50 is a whole different story. “You have to kiss a hundred frogs before you find a prince,” my friend Susan said. Susan who got divorced after 20 years of marriage navigated the single world brilliantly. While she was single, we mused over how impossible it seemed to find someone to spend the rest of your life with, especially at such a late stage of the game. A needle in a haystack. At 50, you know who you are. You can’t lie to yourself like you did when you were 20. At 20, often, the fantasy took over and you forgot to pay attention to his work ethic, his wandering eye, his fear of intimacy, his tendency to drink everyone under the table or that he was a Momma’s Boy. Maybe he was social and loved to entertain and you liked a more quiet life, but you got married anyway and figured you’d work it out after. You don’t do that at 50. At 50, there are things you can’t ignore. And it seemed like an impossible feat to find a match. There were the big things to consider like chemistry, education, religion and lifestyle. But what about weird things like hygiene? Susan and I would lament; it seemed like too much. Date after date, there were stories. Once, a man told Susan on their first date about his ex-wife. “Wait until I get my hands around her neck. I’ll fix her wagon, that bitch,” he yelled, as his fury mounted. But Susan took it all in stride. “Dating is like shopping online for shoes,” she said. “You keep clicking until you find the right pair.” Susan did find her match. And just the other day someone responded to the new profile picture Pam put up. He wrote, “Good Morning, Snow White.”

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October 13, 2015

Extremism vs. Moderation: A Balancing Act

In August, a child tried to push over a street performer. The performer was standing on a balance board on top of a ball on top of a five-foot high stool. The performer didn't fall, and after finding his balance, called out to the kid, “Hey that wasn’t cool.” Then he said to the kid's parents, “Some people should really use a condom.” Why would that kid do that? Is balance boring? Maybe that’s why we “push things” to extremes. Think about it: Everything in moderation. There’s a happy medium. How dull is that? We prefer extreme sports, binge drinking, ultra-orthodox and radical feminism. We polarize ideas and fight for absolutes: Nature vs. Nurture Liberals vs. Conservatives Eastern Medicine vs. Western Medicine Phonics vs. Whole Language Vegans vs. Zealous Carnivores Versus or vs. means against, which implies a fight, or hostility towards. And in a fight there is always a winner and a loser, someone who is right and someone who is wrong. So is that it, at the base of it all, the need to be right? According to Terry Real, a family therapist, one of the five losing strategies in marriage is the need to be right. (See: When Your Marriage Breaks.) But needing to be right is pervasive in our culture, if not the world. It feels imperative to have a strong, adamant stance, a clear point of view, or else people will think you’re weak or wishy-washy. Or worse, boring. Ironically, I think it’s more boring to be absolute. For example, take Bill O’Reilly. I’m not making a political statement here. I’m simply talking about one man who always sounds like he’s in a fight with someone, about something. He’s unwavering in defending his perspective, and it’s polarizing. He loses credibility because he’s so extremely resolute. And simply put that’s less interesting, to me, than trying to synthesize opposing ideas, or create new ones. "Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds' wings." ~ Rumi

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October 6, 2015

My Mother-In-Law (In-Laws Part II)

When my mother-in-law was 70 years-old, she frequented nightclubs with red ropes outside. While people a third of her age waited in long lines, in freezing temperatures, bouncers all over New York City ushered her in. Have you been to Lavo? she’d ask my daughter-in-law and my daughter. (She skipped right over me, the one who enjoys author readings and likes to eat dinner by 7pm.) Any other fabulous places I should go? she wanted to know. Obviously, my mother-in-law has spunk. But she has grace and wisdom too. Widowed, she knew enough about herself to know she didn’t want to be alone. She joined an online dating service, attended fundraisers and parties for singles. At one of these events, she met a lovely man from South Africa, and within a few months, they were married. I am not exaggerating when I say he is one of the most pleasant and kind people I know. Women who know my mother- in- law say she should give classes. The class might be titled: Set Your Sights On A Goal And Never (Ever, Ever, Ever) Give Up. I've learned some important things from my mother-in-law. Always hold on to the banister when you walk down stairs. Everything you say to someone registers. Even if they appear to not be listening, it festers in the back of their head, so say what you have to say. But mostly, I've learned from watching her. On Friday nights before Shabbat, Syrian families sometimes gather for what is known as maza, or Syrian appetizers. Maza is a middle eastern tradition and typically, kibbe is served. Kibbe is made of bulgar and is stuffed with spiced chopped meat and deep fried. There is no telling how far back this tradition goes, centuries I’m sure, but this past summer, in an effort to bring her family together, one of her most important values, she started her own tradition. Wanting to please young and old alike, instead of inviting everyone in her rather large family over for maza (nobody wants to eat fried meat and dough anymore) she invited us for Cookies and Cocktails. She might be one to do away with kibbe but she definitely hasn’t updated her views on marriage. She thinks everyone should be married. And the sooner the better. So my 24 year-old single daughter is a subject that perplexes her. When my daughter was hesitant to go on a blind date, my mother-in-law told her, “Just go for a drink. What’s the big deal? I would go for a drink with the mailman.” My mother-in-law is a beautiful woman and she takes good care of herself. Exercise may include a brief walk in high heels, usually the length of 2 department store windows, but she watches what she eats. She is known to eat only half of everything. She eats half a main course, half a cookie, half a muffin. "But what if it’s a mini muffin?” one of her children challenge. “Then you can have the whole thing.” But she won’t. She has her way of thinking. She’s been travelling a lot lately: South Africa, Israel, Mexico, St. Barthes, Turkey, Spain, Portugal. But please don't misunderstand. My mother-in-law has had her challenges. Her best quality is her attitude. The class she should teach: A Positive Mind, A Positive Life.

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September 29, 2015

In-Laws and Creative Living

We all know those mean mother-in-law jokes: What do you do if you miss your mother in law? Reload, and try again! My mother in law is well balanced. She has a chip on both shoulders. Is there a family relationship more burdened? Tempting fate, I went to the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) with my daughter-in-law, Margo, last week. We went to hear Elizabeth Gilbert speak about her new book, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. Margo is pragmatic. She is a nurse and scientifically minded. On our way to BAM, Margo rattled off a list of over 32 things she’d done that day, including errands in Brooklyn and New Jersey, tending to her children, helping with homework, meeting with a painter and just before leaving her house, giving an injection to a pregnant friend. I, on the other hand, tinkered with a story idea for most of the day. And to tell you the truth, I was feeling a bit down about that. It is hard to stay home, facing an empty screen and have what appears to be nothing accomplished at the end of the day. Of course, I know this is not really true but Elizabeth Gilbert’s message couldn’t have come at a better time. She assured the creative souls in her audience that we were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing and she encouraged us to keep at it. She talked about fairy dust and inspiration but she also talked about hard work and perseverance. She talked about the voices in her head, how they take up space and how she lets them come alive: The Doubter, The Critic, Fear—and while that process didn’t sound so crazy to me, Margo diagnosed her with multiple personality disorder. You’re probably wondering why my not necessarily artsy daughter-in-law wanted to hear Elizabeth Gilbert talk about creativity, especially considering she is one of the few people in the world who didn't even read Eat Pray Love. Or see the movie. This is how it happened. I was supposed to be going to the BAM with my husband but he forgot and bought tickets to the Giants game. I invited my daughter but she opted out. My son, Margo’s husband, was going to the football game with his dad and Margo didn't want to stay home. I promised her a drink after the reading and let’s just say it didn’t take a lot of arm-twisting. My oldest daughter kept smirking, doubting the whole prospect. But she was wrong; because while Margo and I are not exactly alike (I drink vodka, she drinks tequila) we both loved the event, and the hole-in-the-wall bar we found afterwards with live music. Granted, it was a bit awkward when two men started talking to us but we left soon after and found a great restaurant. I know I’m in the right place when there are vegan options on the menu. It’s not always easy for us to find time to get together much less share intimacies. But that night, we learned new things about each other. A mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law: loving each other, respecting each other, caring about each other. Now that’s art. That’s Big Magic.

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September 22, 2015

Faith

An Alpha-fetoprotein test indicated there might be a problem with my unborn baby’s health. The good news was that this particular blood test often showed false positives. The bad news was that the test could be right. I thought I was the kind of person who’d need to find out if my baby was healthy. I figured I'd have an amniocentesis done and within two weeks, I'd know. My husband and I went for genetic counseling, a requirement before amniocentesis was preformed at the time, and we learned that our chances for having a sick child were exactly equal to the chance of me having a miscarriage due to the procedure. Five months in, my stomach the size of a soccer ball, I was already attached to my unborn baby. Wanting it, I decided at the last minute that I could live with whatever my higher power had in store for me but that I couldn’t live with a miscarriage that was my own doing. The rabbi encouraged me to pray with all my heart as if anything could happen but believe, simultaneously, that everything was going to be okay. I spent the next twenty weeks of my pregnancy not knowing. Thankfully, the baby was healthy. Looking back, I don't how I did that.

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September 15, 2015

Be Here Now

My cell phone was dead so I left it charging in my bedroom. I sat outside on the front steps waiting for my grandson to get off his camp bus. Normally, that time would’ve passed uneventfully as I caught up reading emails or scrolled through instagram and facebook. But sitting there, alone, no phone in hand had me fidgety and bored. When my kids were small, I waited for the camp bus every day and I didn’t have a cell phone. I guess it was during that downtime that I used to think, which I absolutely have no time for now. Now, instead of coming up with my own thoughts, I read other people’s ideas and “like” them. Through social media, I am reminded... It’s never too late. I am enough. Miracles happen when you believe. There are countless recipes I must try and a plethora of clothes I must buy. There is no time anymore to sit still and just “Be.” As a young mother, I didn’t have all those social media distractions and I am grateful for that. For years, I fought against technology and cell phone use. I left my phone off in my purse and wouldn’t talk on it in public places. But I do now. And it’s hard to know what’s lost. That day, waiting for the bus, alone and undistracted, I had a writing idea, one I might not have had if I were “liking” someone else’s new facebook picture or copying and pasting a memorable quote. Now, I check my phone countless times a day. I think it’s the intermittent reinforcement. You never know when that great email is coming. Just this week I received a second invitation to submit one of my posts to the North American Review for their blog. You can find that post here. Just as I am thankful I had children before cell phones were as indispensable as fingers, I’m glad I began writing before I had a cell phone too. Presently, I start my day reading emails and checking out what’s posted on instagram but a decade ago, I did Morning Pages, which are three pages of longhand writing, strictly stream-of-consciousness. Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, says “The pages may not seem spiritual or even meditative—but they are a valid form of meditation that gives us insight and helps us effect change in our lives.” Over many years, I filled stacks of black and white composition notebooks. My children knew that writing time was sacred and my daughter, at two, would say to her siblings, “Shhh, Mommy’s doing her Morning Pages now.” It was a daily practice, a ritual. It was a time to be still and reflect. It was a time to plan and discover. I loved the feel of my hand moving across the page (no you can’t do Morning Pages on a computer). It’s also important to know you can’t do Morning Pages wrong. And there are so many ways that journal writing can go right. Sometimes I figured out a way to deal with a family matter, uncovered a dream I didn't even know I had or developed a writing idea. Sometimes, I simply jotted down what I needed to do that day. The point is that it encouraged mindfulness, focusing my attention on the emotions and thoughts happening in that present moment. It was my time to And since you're on your cell phone or computer, and not meditating, I might as well leave you with this...

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September 8, 2015

Miley Cyrus: Is Her Career Over?

I read on the Internet and heard on television that Miley’s career was over. Miley had gone too far. I remember vividly watching Madonna sing, “Like A Virgin,” rolling around on stage, erotically, during the MTV Video Awards in 1984. She wore a bride’s gown: corset, garter belt and veil. Immediately, her performance was criticized but publicized, everyone was talking about her. No one had ever done what she’d done on stage before. People, shocked, said her career was over. It seems that the shock factor is actually the very thing that boosts celebrities to further stardom because as it turns out, that was just the beginning of Madonna’s career. She took off after that. And the more she reinvented herself, and the more outrageous she became, the more we paid attention. How does one even go about getting noticed today? Everything is so amped up. It used to be that a good movie had one or two pivotal or dramatic scenes. Now movies seem to be a string of those events, one car chase or bomb explosion after another. It used to be that a novel writer had 100 pages to develop character or build plot before anything spectacular needed to happen. Then it became ten pages, then one. Now you have a sentence. Audiences have no patience. They want to be shocked, stunned, entertained and amused immediately, and continuously. At the 2015 MTV Music Video Awards, Miley sang, “Yeah I smoke pot… but I don’t give a f*ck.” She danced in costumes that barely covered her nipples. In the finale, her backup dancers were drag queens. Her desire for attention, and or to shock, is preposterous, not to mention boring. And yet, Miley is the one laughing all the way to the bank. I don’t believe, regardless of how tasteless her performance was, her career is over. In fact, just like Madonna, she’s got everyone talking. (This is not to compare talent. I happen to like Madonna and I’m not a Miley fan although that is not the point of this post.) What is the point is that we blame Miley. Sure she is responsible for herself and she is ultimately the one in control of what she wears and what she sings but we are complicit. She didn’t write her own lyrics. She didn’t design her own costumes. She didn’t choreograph her own dance routines. And she didn’t invite herself to host the MTV Video Music Awards. Society has made it so that the one who is the most theatrical or outrageous gets to be in the spotlight. In fact, Bill O’Reilly talked about Miley’s performance on his show, which got me to Google it, and then to watch it. Bill O’Reilly talks about the President of the United States. He talks about aspiring presidents like Donald Trump. And he discussed Miley, which, from her agent’s perspective, is a good thing because bad press is better than no press. We pretend we’re outraged by Miley’s behavior, that we want something different, even as we watch her twerk Robin Thicke on YouTube 203 million times. Where are our values? My grandsons ages, 6, 4 and 3, walk around singing, “Shut up and dance with me.” “Uptown funk me up.” “Watch me whip, watch me nah nah.” “Bubble butt…” (I wouldn’t consider posting the rest of the words here but they are certainly shocking.) Lately, I feel manipulated when books, or movies, or performances start out with such a bang. There is nowhere to go but down. And the drive to keep upping the ante is exhausting. Think of it this way: I love ice cream. But an ice cream sundae would not taste as good after eating pizza, pasta, a turkey sandwich and an omelet. It’s just too much! But we are gluttonous for more. We forget that a little spice is a good thing but too much gives you indigestion.

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September 1, 2015

Fur: Is It Okay To Wear It?

Anti- fur activists are some of the most aggressive people on the planet and so strolling, unknowingly, through a PETA protest was one of the most shocking, and shameful, experiences of my life. It was Thanksgiving. My husband and I had taken our three youngest children to Manhattan for some holiday weekend fun. It was freezing outside that day and I wore a shearling coat, one I bought 20 years prior. I don’t have a second shearling coat. Just that one. And I bought it at a time when I did not have awareness about animal cruelty. As I developed an understanding of a corrupt fur trade, I considered not wearing the coat I already owned. But that seemed ridiculous, a waste: not a fashion waste, a real waste. Plus, it gets really cold in New York, and nothing keeps you warm as fur. I appeased my conscience by not buying a new one, and justified wearing the one I had by telling myself what’s done is done. But the angry anti-fur mob before me didn’t know my story nor would they care. They saw my coat and had one mission. Faced with their hostility on 5th Avenue, I was left, at first, frightened and appalled but then furious. With outstretched arms, I tried to shield my children by creating a barricade around them as the protesters waved horrific, graphic signs– images of skinned animals, still alive. I’m pretty easy-going in general but when people mess with my kids—watch out! Fierceness takes over, a mama bear’s reaction to protecting her cubs. But in this case, there was little I could do. The damage was done. Even as I covered my children’s eyes, and tried to barrel through the crowd, my children had seen. Apparently, the protesters were keen on protecting animals but not children. Once I had a chance to calm down, I wondered about how to proceed. To continue to wear the coat or not, was the question. I actually have a few fur coats in my attic. They’ve been collecting dust there for years as I refused to wear them. They were gifts from my grandmother who wore chinchilla, sable, fox, beaver, mink, leopard, rabbit and lynx during a time when nobody questioned if wearing fur was wrong. But she lived in an era when nobody questioned cigarette smoking either. We have more awareness today. We know that wearing fur is linked to the killing of animals and not always in the most humane ways. I eat meat and wear leather so I’m left feeling hypocritical when I take a stance like how I am absolutely opposed to buying a coat with a fur-trimmed hood. Pamela Paquin, is the founder of Petite Mort, a fur company that produces ethical fur. Pamela uses road kill. She calls her product accidental fur. The death of the animal might be unfortunate but it is natural. Animals are not caged or treated badly, and in honor of her Native American roots, Pamela gives a prayer of thanks adding spirituality, consciousness and respect to the process. The lines are blurry for sure but whether your fur is from your great grandmother or a road kill victim, I don’t recommend wearing it to Angelica Kitchen, a vegan restaurant, in New York City. Take it from me. I’ve tried it. And while I’ve attempted to hold my head high, confident that the coat I was wearing was legitimate, meaning decades old, I still felt judged. I’m tempted to wear a sign: THIS IS A VINTAGE COAT! Which is another way of saying: THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! But there is a Jewish principle. It goes something like this. A man should not wear a kippah in an unkosher establishment even if he has no intention of eating there because someone might see him and conclude that he is eating there. His behavior could influence another Jew. There is that thinking with the fur debate as well. By wearing it, I make it seem acceptable. The thing is that while I don’t always care what people think about what I do, I do care what they think about me in this regard. I don’t want to be seen as someone who could hurt an animal. I don’t want to be blamed for that death. I’m dreading this upcoming New York winter. The last two have been severe and I’m reconsidering wearing the vintage fur coats I already own: the ones my grandmother purchased in the 50’s and a stunning electric blue one my husband bought me in the 80’s. It feels like such a waste that they hang in the attic closet year after year. I’m still not certain how I feel about this but one thing is for sure–if I should choose to wear them, I will say a little prayer. I’d like to say that I’ll recite the prayer out of respect for the deceased animal but really it’s to beg that I don’t bump into any anti-fur protesters. They always assume the worst. And their behavior is deadly.

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