Rededication

Channukiah-BLOG-3

Tonight, I will light three candles for the third night of Hanukkah. As I’ve written before, Hanukkah is a fairly minor Jewish festival.  It commemorates the victory of the small but mighty band of Maccabees who fought against the army of King Antiochus.  Antiochus wanted to outlaw the practice of Judaism.  When the Maccabees liberated the temple in Jerusalem, it had been desecrated and so needed to be cleansed.  The story goes that there was only enough oil to light the holy menorah over the altar for one night, but a miracle occurred, and the oil lasted for eight nights, enough to allow more oil to be prepared.

Every year I ponder why this festival is significant, and there are many explanations.  This year, I’m focusing on the concept of “dedication,” which is the translation of the Hebrew word “Hanukkah.”  In the case of the holiday, it refers to the Jews regaining control, cleansing and rededicating the temple.  For me, this year represents my rededication to myself.  There have been many dreams in my life that I’ve allowed to fall by the wayside.  I’ve focused on my family, my career and the many responsibilities I’ve taken upon myself.  But I’ve also begun to feel the urgency of time and the drive to revisit some of those old dreams before it’s too late.

I read a post recently on social media about the various famous people who had begun their careers later in their lives, many after already achieving success in some other profession.  It reminded me that regardless of my current age, there is still time and a place to realize some of my goals.  The key is to stay focused and to be realistic.  This year, I am dedicating myself to figuring out which of my early dreams to pursue and to create a plan to achieve them.

I also dedicate myself to letting go of those dreams that are the stuff of childhood.  I was a pretty dreamy child, spending my afternoons lying in the grass looking up at the clouds, creating stories about my life.  When I wasn’t outside, I was curled up with a book, imagining myself in the words of someone else.  As an adult, I have often felt disappointed that life isn’t the fairytales of my youth.

So now it’s time for me to separate the fairytales from the reality of my life.  What can I achieve?  What dreams do I want to hold onto and pursue?  What am I ready to let go of?  And, in this darkest part of the year, how will I find the light to guide me on my path?  Tonight, I will light three candles, and one more every night until all eight are illuminated.  And this week I will dedicate myself to remembering that I can carry that light with me all year.

dreidel

On more thing.  For those of you who followed my adventures in gardening this summer, I have a few final pictures.  The last pumpkins have been harvested, cooked and turned into pies and my sweet potatoes continue to fill us up.  Most recently, they were a yummy stuffing on Thanksgiving.  Enjoy!

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About Barbara Dab

Barbara Dab is a small business owner, journalist, broadcast radio personality, producer and award-winning public relations consultant.  She is the proud owner of Nashville Pilates Company, a boutique Pilates studio in Nashville’s Wedgewood/Houston neighborhood.  Check it out at  www.nashvillepilatescompany.com.  She is also the creator of The Peretz Project: Stories from the Shoah: Next Generation.  The Peretz Project, named for her late father-in-law who was a Holocaust survivor, is collecting testimony from children of survivors.  Visit http://www.theperetzproject.com.  If you are, or someone you know is, the child of survivors of the Shoah, The Holocaust, and you would like to tell your story please leave a comment and Barbara will contact you.

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Feeling Thankful Amid the Chaos

Two days from now, we’ll celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends.  At first glance there seems little to be thankful for given the chaos in our society.

The working poor in America face daily hunger because their wages are not sufficient to cover rent, utility bills and food but they make “too much” money to qualify for public assistance. Not surprisingly, a rising number of people believe capitalism is a failed economic system that benefits only insiders, according to a recent survey in The Economist magazine. The most anti-capitalist are young people just entering the workforce.

Our recent mid-term election has brought the threat of more chaos. The prospect of Democratic control of the House of Representatives has caused our president to unleash shrill tweets filled with paranoiac fear and conspiracy theories about how everyone is out to get him.

On November 13th, the FBI released their annual report on hate crimes showing a 17% increase from 2016 to 2017.  The most common hate crimes are based on race, ethnicity or ancestry. The second most common category is religion, closely followed by sexual orientation. These statistics are borne out by recent mass shootings against religious and ethnic minorities.

Last week the National Rifle Association sued Washington State to block a new law that bans the sale of fully automatic weapons to anyone under the age of 21.  The NRA apparently believes an 18-year-old kid should be allowed to buy a weapon that can kills dozens of people in minutes even if that same kid can’t buy his own beer for another three years.

All of these headlines left me feeling deeply depressed and wondering why I should feel thankful on Thursday.  But then I took a closer look.

Social engagement has increased with hundreds of groups trying to solve problems ranging from climate change to eradicating hunger to opposing intolerance.  Younger people are more relaxed by racial integration and sexual orientation.  White supremacists and other haters are a tiny percentage of the population who cannot win their battle against demographics and decency.

Political engagement has also increased as voters actually showed up to vote and mostly rejected the nuts of the left and the right.  Most importantly, young voters showed up at the polls in large numbers for the first time, having finally recognized that marches aren’t enough; voting is what counts in a democracy.

I see many dark days ahead as our society struggles to adapt to gut-wrenching economic, political and social changes. But amid the chaos, I am thankful this year because I also see signs of hope for our future.

 

About Norma Shirk

My company, Corporate Compliance Risk Advisor, helps employers (with up to 50 employees) to create human resources policies and employee benefit programs that are appropriate to the employer’s size and budget. The goal is to help small companies grow by creating the necessary back office administrative structure while avoiding the dead weight of a bureaucracy.  To read my musings on the wacky world of human resources, see the HR Compliance Jungle (www.hrcompliancejungle.com) which alternates on Wednesday mornings with my new history blog, History By Norma, (available at http://www.normashirk.com). To read my musings on a variety of topics, see my posts on Her Savvy (www.hersavvy.com).

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The Gift

 

As I write this column this morning, I am waiting.  I spent a good part of the last hour WAITING in a huge traffic backup caused by an accident.  I spent time yesterday WAITING for a client who failed to keep her appointment.  I spent time last night WAITING for the tornado-warning all-clear so that I could feel safe about going to bed.  Today, November 6, 2018, I am spending time in WAITING for the outcomes of this milestone midterm election, outcomes that will determine a significant path for the United States.

I am struck as I think about these experiences by the phrase “spending time”.  On an existential level each second of our lives moves us closer to the inevitable end of living.  When we reach that moment, if we are given the opportunity, how will we look back at the time we have spent on this earth?  How will we regard the choices we made?  Will we celebrate or will we have regrets?

We all spend time in lines or in situations that are not of our own making.  We try to minimize the time spent in slow grocery lines, in traffic, in retail stores. We try to rush things up, sometimes to little effect.  I often experience another driver zooming by me in a rush to get ahead, only to find that same driver next to or behind me as the traffic sorts itself out.  Little is gained, and much is lost (gas usage increases, and emotional energy is expended).  Allowing one’s self to respond with frustration or even rage to these situations serves little purpose.  If you look back at your life and find that you spent time focusing on frustration at situations over which you had no control, you may be in for a lot of regret.

We also spend time in situations in which we do have some possible impact.  While I am waiting with some significant degree of angst for this Election Day to end and for the results to be counted, I also know that I did everything that I could do to affect the outcome.  I voted.  I wrote letters to potential voters.  I contributed dollars to the candidates and party of my choice.  I talked to friends about the importance of involvement.  I encouraged others to take a stand.  While I will be tremendously disappointed and concerned if my party of choice does not make strides, I will know that I did what I could do.  I may not celebrate, but I will not have personal regrets as to my participation.  I did not WAIT to get involved.

We wait for something to happen, for an event to take place, for a change to occur.  The experience of waiting is often difficult.  We humans are impatient creatures, for the most part, and we want things to happen on our time schedule.  The eternal cry of the young traveler – “Are we there yet?” – resonates through the lives of human creatures.  We are always wanting to be “there”.  We want to skip over the waiting and get somewhere.

We can wait with patience, or we can wait with anxiety.  We can fill the time of waiting with fretting about how we are not “yet there”, or we can focus on what is happening in this time of waiting.  Perhaps in the midst of the traffic jam there is glimpse of a sunrise that would not have been seen had I not been sitting still.  Perhaps time to complete a project became available through the gift of an unexpected hour.  Perhaps waiting for the all-clear gave me time to read a few chapters of that book I want to finish.

Time is a gift, not a certainty.  Use it wisely.

About Susan Hammonds-White, EdD, LPC/MHSP

Communications and relationship specialist, counselor, Imago Relationship Therapist, businesswoman, mother, proud native Nashvillian – in private practice for 30+ years. I have the privilege of helping to mend broken hearts. Contact me at http://www.susanhammondswhite.com.

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VOTE

Your vote your vioce

These past couple of weeks have been hard.  Attending the local vigil for the victims of the Tree of Life Synagogue mass murder, watching others on TV, reading the many stories of the victims and their families and talking about this horror with my friends have left me drained.  I am aware that my people has lived through this time before.  In fact, it seems to be our recurring theme.  But rather than relive the past right now in this column, I’d like to offer something else that has been repeated these last several days.  That is the notion that we, meaning the American people, have an opportunity right now, to make our voices heard.  We have the power of the vote to express our dissatisfaction and unhappiness, or for some, our satisfaction with the status quo.  The thing that gives me hope is that in our country, regardless of any administration, we have a peaceful outlet for expressing ourselves.  I, for one, have already exercised my right and voted early.  If you have as well, great.  If you have not, this is what I now implore you: VOTE dammit!  Today is Election Day!  Now is your chance.  Vote as if your life depends on it because it just might.  See y’all on the other side.

About Barbara Dab

Barbara Dab is a small business owner, journalist, broadcast radio personality, producer and award-winning public relations consultant.  She is the proud owner of Nashville Pilates Company, a boutique Pilates studio in Nashville’s Wedgewood/Houston neighborhood.  Check it out at  www.nashvillepilatescompany.com.  She is also the creator of The Peretz Project: Stories from the Shoah: Next Generation.  The Peretz Project, named for her late father-in-law who was a Holocaust survivor, is collecting testimony from children of survivors.  Visit http://www.theperetzproject.com.  If you are, or someone you know is, the child of survivors of the Shoah, The Holocaust, and you would like to tell your story please leave a comment and Barbara will contact you.

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It Happened Again…

stronger than hate

It happened, again, and this time it’s even closer to home.  This past Saturday morning, as my extended Jewish community in Pittsburgh was praying during the Sabbath, an anti-Semitic madman murdered 11 congregants and injured six more.  As everyone should know by now, the killings occurred as this animal yelled, “All Jews must die.”  Among the murdered was a 97-year-old Holocaust survivor.  The global response was immediate.  Leaders and people of all faiths condemned what is the single largest mass killing of Jews in the United States.  Except for our own President who, although he condemned the murders, also suggested an armed guard at the synagogue might have prevented this tragedy.  Additionally, he spent much of the weekend tweeting about the World Series, mocking elected leaders, tooting his own horn and calling the news media the “true Enemy of the People.”  And this is a man who has a Jewish daughter and Jewish grandchildren.  I am heartbroken, devastated and hardly know where to begin to express my outrage and sadness.

As many people here know, I was born and raised in Los Angeles, California.  Until 2007, when I relocated with my family to Nashville, I had been a member of two very large synagogues and was very involved in the Jewish community in L.A.  The threats to the community there were all too real and following a 1999 shooting at a local Jewish Community Center, my synagogue Board decided to install bullet proof glass doors, a wall around the perimeter of the property, and hire an armed guard to be stationed at the entrance to the parking lot.  Entry to the parking lot was by permit, issued to synagogue members, and visitors had to be placed on an approved list.  For the High Holidays, no one can enter the premises without a valid ticket.  There are security buzzers at the entrance to the administrative and rabbinic offices, which are entered through heavy bullet proof doors.  This was our family’s reality for many years.  We adjusted and carried on.  My sense of safety and welcome in this country began to crumble then, but nevertheless, we continued to show up, to participate, to celebrate and to live our most basic value of “repairing the world.”

When we moved to Nashville I was surprised to learn our synagogue, which faces one of the busiest and most visible streets in town, had no walls, no tickets are required and only a door buzzer with a camera signals to the office who is interested in entering the building.  We do employ a security consultant who is on duty during school hours, services and other special events.  During High Holidays, there are more officers, but the doors remain open.  And then, a few years ago, in the early morning hours, someone drove by the synagogue and fired a gun at the building.  Thankfully no one was there yet, but we began to take a more serious look at our own security.

But here’s the thing: no amount of “security measures,” can stop the hate that filled that maniac’s head and heart.  It’s like trying to stop an old leaky ship.  You can plug each hole as it springs open but sooner or later, the ship will need to be completely repaired or rebuilt, or it will surely sink.  And today I feel we have reached that point.  This country is broken at its core.  The leadership spends more time bashing each other, name calling and avoiding responsibility.  No one is even home when it comes to making hard decisions about gun control, mental health and basic human rights.  As I write this, the administration is sending over 5,000 troops to the Mexican border to stop a caravan of people looking for salvation here.

And, let me address the media bashing.  As a former news reporter, I can attest to the honesty and integrity of those who cover the stories we read, watch and listen to.  Yes, there are always going to be those who go after the sensational, those who embellish the facts.  Just like with anything, a few bad apples can spoil the whole bunch.  But make no mistake, the vast majority of the news media takes their job as a sacred obligation.  Trust me, there’s not much money or glamor in chasing down leads, digging up information and waiting patiently for a source to call back.  But there is holiness in sitting and bearing witness to someone’s pain as they describe a tragedy.  It is an honor to tell the stories of those who have no other voice.  And it is a privilege to be the Fourth Estate.  Without a free press, we would indeed not be the nation that we envision ourselves to be.

So, where do we go from here?  I’m not sure.  A couple of years ago I was at our synagogue’s monthly Board meeting.  During a discussion about attendance in services our rabbi charged each of us with the responsibility to lead by example.  He encouraged us to take our leadership roles seriously and to live the values we want to see in our congregants.  It’s something I’d heard before.  My late father, Judge Fred Rimerman, used to tell us to always be good citizens.  He taught my siblings and I to live by the laws and values of our community, our city, state and country.  If we aren’t happy with things, there are lawful, moral avenues for change, beginning with our right to vote.  I have tried to live my life by those lessons.  My dad’s voice rings in my ears when I face a moral dilemma.

Today I’m struggling with how to process these latest events and what to do about my own feelings of anger, despair, sadness and horror.  I’m relying on my childhood lessons to be a good citizen, my rabbi’s admonishment to lead by example.  Yesterday I was at a meeting at the synagogue and the rabbi stopped in to say a few words.  What stands out for me was his encouragement that we all keep showing up, we continue to be proud of our Jewish and American identities.  And he reminded us that there is always new life and new hope emerging.  Just before he came to speak to us, he’d officiated at a baby naming and circumcision ceremony for two new babies, and following his talk he would officiating at one more.  Three precious new lives entered the community of the Jewish people and there are more coming.

So, I pledge to carry the memories of those who perished Saturday at the hands of evil, just as I carry the memories of the six million who were murdered by the Nazis, those murdered in the pogroms of Russia and the many others in our history.  I will remind myself that the perpetrators are gone, but we are still here.  Those that sought to wipe us off the face of the earth were foiled in their attempts and we endure and thrive.

Today I will mourn and cry.  Tomorrow I will pick myself up and go on with joy and gratitude.

 

About Barbara Dab

Barbara Dab is a small business owner, journalist, broadcast radio personality, producer and award-winning public relations consultant.  She is the proud owner of Nashville Pilates Company, a boutique Pilates studio in Nashville’s Wedgewood/Houston neighborhood.  Check it out at  www.nashvillepilatescompany.com.  She is also the creator of The Peretz Project: Stories from the Shoah: Next Generation.  The Peretz Project, named for her late father-in-law who was a Holocaust survivor, is collecting testimony from children of survivors.  Visit http://www.theperetzproject.com.  If you are, or someone you know is, the child of survivors of the Shoah, The Holocaust, and you would like to tell your story please leave a comment and Barbara will contact you.

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Why the Time Change?

Every spring and every fall, as we “spring ahead” or “fall back,” people all around the country ask, “So am I gaining an hour or losing one?” It seems there is always confusion. And then there’s the question of why we do this at all. Why don’t we just leave the clocks alone and keep to “standard” time? Wouldn’t it just be easier? Well, get ready because it’s changing this November 4th.

I’ve always had some vague notion of the how and why we change our clocks, but I thought it had a much more recent history. I also thought it had to do with kids getting out of school and helping with farm work or something. I can’t tell you where I got that. You may already know it, but Daylight Saving Time (DST) is used to save energy and make better use of daylight. It was first used in 1908 in Thunder Bay, Canada. Many say the idea was actually conceived by Benjamin Franklin. Yep, our Ben, considered the “Father of Electricity.” According to timeanddate.com, however,

“Many sources also credit Benjamin Franklin with being the first to suggest seasonal time change. However, the idea voiced by the American inventor and politician in 1784 can hardly be described as fundamental for the development of modern DST. After all, it did not even involve turning the clocks. In a letter to the editor of the Journal of Paris, which was entitled “An Economical Project for Diminishing the Cost of Light”, Franklin simply suggested that Parisians could economize candle usage by getting people out of bed earlier in the morning. What’s more: Franklin meant it as a joke.”

The U.S. is one of about seventy countries around the world that use Daylight Saving (not SavingS) Time. Not every state in the country subscribes to it though. The Energy Policy Act of 2005 gives every state or territory the right to opt out of using DST. For the U.S. and its territories, Daylight Saving Time is NOT observed in Hawaii, American Samoa, Guam, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, the Commonwealth of Northern Mariana Islands, and Arizona. The Navajo Nation participates in the Daylight Saving Time policy, even in Arizona, due to its large size and location in three states. Florida wants to have Daylight Saving Time year-round and Governor Rick Scott has signed off on a bill, the “Sunshine Protection Act,” asking congress to make it happen.

So, remember noticing a time change in the time change? I do. All of a sudden, the spring change came earlier and the fall change came later. The Energy Policy Act of 2005 was signed into law on August 8, 2005 and it changed DST dates.

The Energy Policy Act extended the yearly Daylight Saving Time (DST) period in the United States by several weeks.

  • The beginning of DST was moved from the first Sunday of April to the second Sunday of March.
  • The end of DST was moved from the last Sunday of October to the first Sunday in November.

The law came into effect on March 1, 2007, and the new DST schedule was first applied on March 11 of the same year.

Some pros and cons of DST (Again, from timeanddate.com,):

Pro: Longer Evenings

Changing the clocks does not create extra daylight, but it causes the Sun to rise and set at a later time by the clock. So, when we spring forward an hour in spring, we add 1 hour of natural daylight to our afternoon schedule.

  • Proponents of DST argue that longer evenings motivate people to get out of the house. The extra hour of daylight can be used for outdoor recreation like golf, soccer, baseball, running, etc. That way, DST may counteract the sedentary lifestyle of modern living.
  • The tourism industry profits from brighter evenings. Longer nights give people more time to go shopping, to restaurants, or other events, boosting the local economy.

Con: Doesn’t Save Energy

A century ago, when DST was introduced, more daylight was a good thing because it meant less use of artificial light, helping to save energy. Modern society, with its computers, TV-screens, and air conditioning units uses more energy, no matter if the Sun is up or not. Today, the amount of energy saved from DST is negligible.

Pro: Less Artificial Light

One of the aims of DST is to make sure that people’s active hours coincide with daylight hours so that less artificial light is needed. This makes less sense close to the equator where the amount of daylight does not vary much in a year or near the poles where the difference between winter and summer daylight hours is very large.

However, at latitudes between these extremes, adjusting daily routines to the shifting day length during summer may indeed help to save energy. A German analysis of 44 studies on energy use and DST found a positive relationship between latitude and energy savings.

Con: Can Make People Sick

Changing the time, even if it is only by 1 hour, disrupts our body clocks or circadian rhythm. For most people, the resulting tiredness is simply an inconvenience. For some, however, the time change can have more serious consequences.

Pro: Lighter = Safer

Safety is a good argument for keeping the lighter evenings of DST.

Con: Costs Money

It is hard to determine the economic cost of the collective tiredness caused by DST, but studies have found that there is a decrease in productivity after the spring transition.

  • The City of New York invested 1.5 million US dollars in a dusk and darkness safety campaign for the DST change for the fall of 2016.
  • There is an extra cost in building DST support into computer systems and keeping them maintained, as well as manually changing clocks.

The debate over DST is ongoing. I figure, we made up “time” anyway, so, if we want to change it to suit us, why not? The sun will rise when she’s ready and set the same way.

About Jan Schim

Jan is a singer, a songwriter, a licensed body worker specializing in CranioSacral Therapy, and a teacher. She is an advocate for the ethical treatment of ALL animals and a volunteer with several animal advocacy organizations. She is also a staunch believer in the need to promote environmental responsibility.

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Big Mike

        

He stood 6’3” with the build of a football defensive lineman.  When his blond hair thinned, he shaved his head but kept his untrimmed beard. He looked scary as heck.

When he worked as a bouncer and the college boys were rowdy, his boss would say, “Hey, Big Mike, go stand over there and just stare at them”.   Mike would walk over to the table without a smile, cross his arms and stare. Within minutes the college boys were running for the door to get away from him.

But Big Mike wasn’t scary to little kids. Every child, and most adults, stood in line for his bear hugs and to hear his deep laugh. He taught his nieces to roar like a dinosaur. They put bows in his beard and pasted one on top of his bald head.

Nothing was too wacky or weird to try at least once. At the Honda dealership where he worked, he flew toy helicopters around the shop often trailing a small banner with an obscene message.

At his friend’s wedding, he told the bride’s family that he and the groom were drug dealers. When his friend’s son was born with blond hair and blue eyes, Mike responded, “Hey, I was just there to fix the dryer”.  (The baby’s parents have dark hair and eyes. )

His voicemail greeting growled “Hi, this is Big Mike. I like girls, so if you’re a guy make it quick”.  His Facebook page said “Hi, I’m Big Mike. If you want to know more, get to know me in person”.  So many people got to know him.

The children at summer camp will never forget the big guy who was always willing to listen to their troubles and dreams.  The Special Olympics athletes he cheered to victory presented his family with a medal engraved with their names to honor Big Mike.   He was a PUNK (Professional Uncle No Kids).

Big Mike was a talented artist. He sketched with pencil and pen. He built rocking chairs shaped like animals for children.  He customized his shoes with glittery designs, like the pair he wore at the bowling alley with a battery-powered blinking blue light. He also played several musical instruments and happily taught others to play.

It’s impossible to explain who he was or how much he influenced others in a few words. He certainly wasn’t perfect because no human is. But I have never laughed so much at a funeral as when I listened to his friends and family tell stories about him.  He was taken from us too soon. But his legacy will live on through the stories.

In loving memory of my nephew, Michael Alan “Big Mike” Shirk (1984 – 2018), gone but never forgotten.

 

About Norma Shirk

My company, Corporate Compliance Risk Advisor, helps employers (with up to 50 employees) to create human resources policies and employee benefit programs that are appropriate to the employer’s size and budget. The goal is to help small companies grow by creating the necessary back office administrative structure while avoiding the dead weight of a bureaucracy.  To read my musings on the wacky world of human resources, see the HR Compliance Jungle (www.hrcompliancejungle.com) which alternates on Wednesday mornings with my new history blog, History By Norma, (available at http://www.normashirk.com). To read my musings on a variety of topics, see my posts on Her Savvy (www.hersavvy.com).

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Reflections on the Family Dinner

family-dinner-1

This last few weeks has been hard for me for many reasons. My business has shifted gears, in a positive way, but has resulted in long hours and many decisions.  My husband has been working on a big project at work, so we haven’t had as much time together as usual, leaving us both irritable and feeling disconnected.  The Jewish holidays have come and gone and, while spiritually uplifting, the attendant socializing and entertaining have me feeling somewhat depleted physically.  And then there’s the big elephant in the room, the circus freak-show going on in Washington, which makes me sad, depressed, angry and frightened.  I am not really a negative person, in fact most people would say I’m unnaturally optimistic, but this month has been a struggle, even for me.

But, dear reader, do not despair. I was hit with inspiration the other day during a random, casual conversation with some of my colleagues.  I had brought my lunch to a meeting and the discussion turned to cooking in general, cooking for families in particular.  I was the only person with children of my own, the others being considerably younger than myself, but each of us had something to say about our experiences with family meals.  I mentioned that, while my children were growing up, I made family dinners an every-night thing. As the children got older, had more activities and eventually were able to drive themselves around, attendance was not always one hundred percent.  But, at the proscribed time, dinner was on the table for whomever was home.

One of my colleagues mentioned that her mom didn’t know how to cook, so they ate out every dinner, or brought in food from somewhere else.  This led us to discuss what, exactly, constitutes a “family dinner.”  Did it have to be homemade?  Did it have to be at home?  Did it have to be dinner?  I was struck by the guilt the other felt that they didn’t engage in this daily ritual with their families.  They judged their parents for not making it a priority.  I, in turn, began to feel self-conscious.  I am not one to hold everyone to some random standard that fits me and in fact, I try to look deeper in these types of discussions.  Did each of their families make some sort of regular interaction happen?  Could they look differently at their family’s process and see what they did to maintain connection?  For my family, dinner was the available time, but for other families it may have been something else.

The discussion revealed to me the complex and intense relationship between families and food.  Not a groundbreaking thing, for sure.  But scratch the surface and you’ll find that even in today’s modern world where things move at lightning speed and dinner can be obtained with the click of a mouse, by opening an app or by a meal delivery program, there remains a longing for people in the same household to spend time together.  For most of us food is comfort and the comfort of eating with those we love, in our familiar surroundings, makes us feel safer and less alone in the world.

In these turbulent times, we all long for a way to make sense of things.  At the end of the day I still feel comforted by going to the fridge, taking out the fixings for a home cooked meal and beginning the preparations while my husband pours a glass of wine and we share our day.  When my children come home for visits, they ask for their favorite meals and we cook together, catching up and remembering what always brings us back together.

If you have a memory or story to share about your “family dinner,” please share.  I’m working on a collection of stories on this subject and would love to connect with you.  Leave a comment here, or email me at barbaradabpr@gmail.com  Bon apetit!

Bonus points if you can identify the family in the featured photo!

P.S.  Here’s one last picture from my Summer Garden.  Sweet Potatoes!  Just dug from the ground, ready to dry and store for Sweet Potato pie for Thanksgiving!

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About Barbara Dab

Barbara Dab is a small business owner, journalist, broadcast radio personality, producer and award-winning public relations consultant.  She is the proud owner of Nashville Pilates Company, a boutique Pilates studio in Nashville’s Wedgewood/Houston neighborhood.  Check it out at  www.nashvillepilatescompany.com.  She is also the creator of The Peretz Project: Stories from the Shoah: Next Generation.  The Peretz Project, named for her late father-in-law who was a Holocaust survivor, is collecting testimony from children of survivors.  Visit http://www.theperetzproject.com.  If you are, or someone you know is, the child of survivors of the Shoah, The Holocaust, and you would like to tell your story please leave a comment and Barbara will contact you.

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An Immigrant Story

 

Once upon a time, two men named Christian and Jacob lived in a country devastated by war. The war had been going on for decades and the economy was wrecked, destroying their livelihoods as farmers and tradesmen.  Military press gangs roamed the countryside and towns looking for young men who could be forcibly recruited into military service.

The government of the day legitimated its rule by collaborating with the majority religion to stamp out the “heretics” who were considered political and religious subversives.  Christian and Jacob belonged to a religious minority that practiced pacifism.  As a result, they faced a constant threat of imprisonment, torture, and death.

They moved from place to place with their families trying to survive.  Eventually word spread through their community of a country where they could practice their religious beliefs without fear of persecution and support their families without fear of war.

Christian and Jacob chose to make the dangerous journey to the new country.  Healthy, unmarried young men are usually the first family members to emigrate because they are considered better able to take care of themselves and find jobs quickly.  After the young men are established, they can pay to bring other family members to safety.  Then as now women risked sexual exploitation, including rape, during their immigrant journey.

Christian and Jacob made their immigrant journey in the early 1730’s, landing at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. They came for religious freedom and economic security.  Under today’s rules, they could be classified as either refugees or economic migrants.

Refugees fleeing religious or political persecution are eligible for asylum and eventual citizenship. Economic migrants are considered a threat to the existing workforce and so are returned to their country of origin as quickly as possible.

Christian and Jacob never learned English but that didn’t stop them from becoming productive citizens. I am forever grateful for their courage and energy in making the dangerous immigrant journey.  I am one of many descendants of Christian Rutt (maternal ancestor) and Jacob Schurch (paternal ancestor) who are now citizens of the U.S.

Every family living in the U.S. has a story like this whether they arrived centuries ago or just last week. To honor the memory of Christian and Jacob, I welcome all new immigrants.  They may seem different now but they’ll fit in quickly.

 

About Norma Shirk

My company, Corporate Compliance Risk Advisor, helps employers (with up to 50 employees) to create human resources policies and employee benefit programs that are appropriate to the employer’s size and budget. The goal is to help small companies grow by creating the necessary back office administrative structure while avoiding the dead weight of a bureaucracy.  To read my musings on the wacky world of human resources, see the HR Compliance Jungle (www.hrcompliancejungle.com) which alternates on Wednesday mornings with my new history blog, History By Norma, (available at http://www.normashirk.com). To read my musings on a variety of topics, see my posts on Her Savvy (www.hersavvy.com).

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The Other Side of the Couch – Seventeen Years

Seventeen years ago – two events took place.  The world knows all about one of those events.  The attack on the United States that began that morning culminated in the deaths of thousands, the desolation of the hearts of millions, and the eruption into world consciousness of religious fanaticism that was to go on to claim many more lives across these years.

The other event that took place that day was not marked by the world in any unusual fashion.  It passed quietly, was not newsworthy.  To me, however, this event paralleled the catastrophic loss of loved ones and of some sense of security in the world.

September 11, 2001 would have been my beloved father’s 81st birthday.

My dad, Dr. Glenn Hammonds, succumbed to a sudden illness on July 5, 2001.  He was taken ill, hospitalized, and died after two extensive surgeries that could not save his life.  A little more than two months later, the day of his birth, already a grief-filled marker, was forever joined with the national tragedy of the attack on our country.

My dad was a remarkable man – a young surgeon who served in WWII, a leader in his field, but most of all a beloved physician who is remembered to this day by patients he treated for his kind demeanor and listening ear.  I still encounter strangers who, on hearing my name, ask me if I am related to Dr. Hammonds and tell me stories of his care.

However, I am aware that the extraordinary amount of time and care that he gave to his patients sometimes made it difficult for him to be as available to his family as we wanted or as he wished.  This is a dilemma for all those who serve in care-giving roles.  As a child one knows that Daddy is doing something important, but one also knows that Daddy isn’t home and that when he is he is very tired.

I was blessed to have this caring, compassionate, intelligent man as a father.  I wish that I had had longer with him in his later years.  I wish that we had been able to talk about the role of being a care-giver, the toll it can take on personal relationships, and the great need for a focus on self-care.  On days like today, when I remember my dad with both sorrow and pride, I strengthen my own daily resolve to delight in this moment, to be grateful for the family, friends, and health that I enjoy.  So thank you, Dad, for the ongoing lessons and love that are forever a part of me – even the lessons that you probably didn’t know you were teaching.

Sometimes unintended lessons can be the most profound of all.  Do you have lessons that you didn’t know you were learning?  They could be ways in which you want to behave in a different way than that which you saw in your childhood home.  They could be experiences that cause you to wonder about your own choices?  Take a look – you may be surprised at what you find.

About Susan Hammonds-White, EdD, LPC/MHSP

Communications and relationship specialist, counselor, Imago Relationship Therapist, businesswoman, mother, proud native Nashvillian – in private practice for 30+ years. I have the privilege of helping to mend broken hearts. Contact me at http://www.susanhammondswhite.com.

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