Passover is traditionally a holiday that is shared with family and friends. I’ve attended Seders with more than 100 people in attendance.
Last night, I held a Seder for myself. Yep, just me. (I did set out a cup of bubbly, non-alcoholic water for Elijah, and even though I left my door open, he didn’t show up and hasn’t shown up yet. <– maybe because eventually, I had to lock the door?!)
To celebrate the first Seder of Passover, there are soooooooo many places I could have gone and been welcomed with open arms. Alternatively, I could have invited a few wayward Jewish and non-Jewish friends over to my home to share in my lil’ Seder. I did neither of those things…
Here’s why I had a Seder for One:
These days, I so rarely get any time to be by myself and last night, I just had to take advantage of the calm and quiet peace in our home. It was absolutely beautiful.
I did veeeeeeery minimal preparation (thanks to Max’s Deli,) and read through A Global Justice Haggadah with my furry friends beside me. I guess I wasn’t really alone because my pets, Erin, Kishke and Polly were all begging me for food. I could also feel the presence of my amazing grandma, Faye Lazar, as I do often and especially on every meaningful Jewish holiday. With every bite of matzo ball soup I slurped, I could feel my grandma judging because there was dill in the matzo balls which she would have seen as an absolute shanda!!!!!! “Dill in matzo balls?!?!?! Fish from a jar?!?!?!?!” Faye Lazar forgives my shortcuts and I’m sure G-d does too.
I did have a moment where I wondered if G-d was cool with how I was doing the first night of Passover this year. I’m pretty sure G-d was good with it and maybe even applauded it a little.
Today’s crankiness could be attributed to the fact that it’s Monday and some Mondays are extra Monday-ish,(like this one.) It’s also a million degrees outside with 150% humidity and I may or may not be menopausal, but whoa… I’ve really disliked being called, “Ma’am” on this particular day.
Argh.
I visited just two places and at both locations, I was addressed multiple times by the moniker that sometimes, makes me shudder;
“MA’AM, your prescription can’t be filled today.” (Pharmacy staff)
“Polly’s prescription is ready for you, MA’AM.” (Vet staff)
“MA’AM, do you want to put your rewards number in?”(Cashier)
“Pardon me, MA’AM…“(Customer sharing the aisle with me)
“MA’AM? MA’AM? MA’AM?!”(Pharmacy staff trying to get my attention)
Sometimes, I really don’t mind being addressed this way. Today, it was different. It happened so many times in a period of about 60 minutes.
I do know some women who are downright offended by the term AT ABSOLUTELY ALL TIMES, because it somehow makes them feel old; but really, isn’t it a polite term of respect more than age?
Please discuss anddo letme know your thoughts. I’m genuinely curious!
Look, I don’t care much about age, so whether or not someone thinks I’m old doesn’t matter to me. What bugged me most about today is that I felt like “ma’am” put a type of formal distance between me and the human beings who were addressing me. I’m a person who really likes to get to know other people.
So, yeah… it’s my problem. If other people feel more comfy calling me, “Ma’am,” (cringe)I’ll have to be okay with it. I can’t envision myself correcting someone when in actuality, they’re pretty correct. I probably am a “ma’am.” I’m a “ma’am” named Pam. Speaking of which…
… don’teeeeeee-ven get me started on how “Ma’am” rhymes with my name. I often think people who know me are calling out my name when in fact, they’re really saying, “ma’am.”
This minor quibble definitely falls into the high-class kvetch category. Also, on a brighter note, it would be even tougher if I was a man named, “Adam” and I thought people were calling me, “Madam.” 🙂
P.S. I haven’t yet made it to “MADAM/MADAME” status unless I’m at a French restaurant which of course, I frequently dine at. I love French doigt de pied-fou.
Le Yum.
Really, no matter what the moniker du jour, One thing I continuously remind myself is that even when I’m cranky over silly things such as this, I’m a very lucky Pam
Most of the time, I have no idea how to answer that question. Do you?
In some respects, this collective trauma has left me feeling less alone than any other time I can recall. I’ve also found myself growing quieter and maybe a little more peaceful. I can’t really explain why but I’m not too into exploring or even asking, “why?”
Some key things I have noted in the past several months:
A lot of things are less funny, including me. I’m okay with that.
I notice little wonderful things in my daily life and I’m on the lookout for them.
I do a gratitude list every single day, even (especially) when I feel crappy.
I have become much smaller and I don’t mean in the physical sense, but my emotional investment in things that once appeared to matter, really don’t. I’m grateful for this too.
I forgive my sloppy eating but not in a way where I’m giving myself permission to eat five dinners. I’m just kinder to myself and I think, others.
I pay far more attention to how I use my own physical, mental, emotional and financial resources – I’m more discerning.
I don’t think I’m ugly even though I am physically not even close to my best.
I am sometimes incredibly sad, but rarely depressed.
I am shocked by other people’s behavior and especially meanness. I have learned in the past several months that I’m actually more naive than I ever thought possible.
I’m not becoming cynical.
I have a new appreciation for my previous trauma. The silver lining is that this is just another trauma and this time, I’m not alone in it.
I miss human touch.
Some of my favorite family moments have happened during this time period.
I generally think more in “we” and not “me.”
I’ve grown less judgmental.
I have fallen more deeply in love with fundraising and nonprofit management since the pandemic began.
I am very impressed by my (and other people’s) children and their ability to cope, hope, adapt and act for positive change.
I’m inspired to and must help the arts community.
I’m devoted to learning how to be an antiracist and I have a lot to learn and do.
I am sure I’m not destined for greatness but am good enough. What a relief.
So…
How am I?
I am okay with not knowing what’s coming down the pike and when I’m uncomfortable, I just sort of sit in my uncomfortableness. It always passes, comes back, passes again and so on…
So, I’ve been on social media today and everyone sounds super duper grateful. I’m pretty grateful today too, but not all Thanksgiving holidays have been filled with me skipping to my lou.
I just thought it important to tell anyone who feels like crap today, that I have felt like crap on Thanksgiving too. 1997 was a hideous Thanksgiving and the following year was one of my favorite Thanksgivings, ever.
The peer pressure can feel daunting. You might be thinking, “I can’t possibly show how crappy I feel right now.” Just don’t let anyone should on you or your authentic feelings. Don’t should on yourself either.
Your shit show of a day will pass. This, I promise.
And now, I am going to go to my Parent’s home with my daughters. There’s a good chance our dog will poop on my bed while we’re away.
I think we may all smell like skunk, due to the fact that our dog was skunked on the day before yesterday and it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
Still, just for today, I am pretty lighthearted and appreciative for having a roof over our head, food to eat and love to give.
My receiving of love could use a little work, but I’m grateful I see that in myself today.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring. One thing I am fairly certain of, is that I’ll still sort of smell like skunk.
I wish you a meaningful Thanksgiving. If you feel awful and ungrateful, I so appreciate your authenticity. You are perfectly imperfect in this very moment.
Just now, I took the dog for a walk. It’s chilly, but as usual, I chose not to wear a jacket. One of the things I like about frigid weather in the winter is how alive I feel when the glacial air blasts my face. Continue reading “People are Kind”
Each day, and sometimes, minute by minute, it takes a commitment to practice accepting things I simply can’t change. Of course, this is not revolutionary. Most people know at least parts of The Serenity Prayer.
Every day, and sometimes, every minute.
Every so often, people question why in the hell I open myself up on this blog and on social media streams. Some individuals are critical of what they perceive as my being fully transparent. I respect their opinions and usually, if they’re interested, I share more about how helping others is exactly why I do it. I hope it helps them accept what I do, but it may not change their opinions and that’s okay. It still doesn’t change who I am.
There are countries I’ve never heard of who read this blog and thank me for it. If I help someone…ANYONE, this is worthwhile.
My hope is that you and others feel less shame and get okay with your own mishegas. I pray you accumulate moments of peace, love and happiness in your life. I have moments and am grateful for every single one of them. Some of my moments get widely published and they are sometimes hilarious. Especially the ones with my daughters. THIS is joy, pure and simple.
If you’re shaming yourself or someone else for something you may not understand, I hope YOU are open to learning that you are capable of loving someone and accepting them as they are, right now, in their imperfect form. You may not understand why they are the way they are, but do you really have to?
I have faith and hope in people. I believe that people can be better. I have spent years experiencing and examining communication and the impact of shame. My on-the-job training and its associated studies, have proven that loving communication opens the path to the release of shame, with access to the location of joy.
It’s not a perfect science. It’s a practice.
I wear mismatched socks sometimes, because you know, laundry madness. C’mon. We all suffer from the laundry madness of single sock disappearance. In the scheme of a challenged history and even a difficult “here and now,” I embrace my new fashion sense.
I really hate doing laundry, especially when I have a headache. On some level, I’ve had a headache for about six months. This is not an exaggeration. Doing laundry and other cleaning chores makes my head worse.
So, to my right, there’s a big pile of laundry that has to be done. There are single socks everywhere, towels, everyday clothes and delicate lingerie that needs to be in a lingerie bag and washed on the gentle cycle.
Just for today, I have one load of laundry in me. Today, everything will be done on the gentle cycle.
The content I post on this blog and on social media is also communicated on a gentle cycle. It gently rocks as it moves. It’s not the ultra power pressure washing of the nitty gritty stories of trauma, post traumatic stress disorder, cancer or addiction. It’s gingerly and carefully relayed here and other places, for you and for me.
So, here I am. My head hurts and I’m off to do my one load of laundry on the gentle cycle. The more detailed version of my stuff’s history and how I practice/d hard to get comfy in my skin, will be included in the book I’ve started writing.
I’m embarrassed and almost ashamed to even state that I’m writing a book. I’ve written lots of books actually, and still, I can hardly call myself a writer.
Like I said – I have a commitment to practice. I practice and practice, but am far from perfect. It’s the commitment to practice that provides the moments of joy.
Today, I have the forethought to choose the gentle cycle for my clothes and for me.
I wish you tender loving gentleness today, even if you’re power washing. May we all have the wisdom to know the difference.
I lost my voice today due to a hefty bout of laryngitis. I mostly reveled in being silenced on this very important day and I’m pretty sure my kids enjoyed my silence more than I did! Continue reading “Releasing the Hunt for the Ghastly Girl”
Pamela Klier-Weidner (PKW) 