In defense of happy endings or Things with which I have made peace, Part I

Growing up, I constantly heard intelligenzia-type Russians poke fun at American movie makers' penchant for happy endings.   Somehow happy ending in the mind of a Russian thinking elite equates with fluff while - I guess - horrible physical and /or psychological suffering that ends really badly is what real art is made of.  Of course, their judgment was based on the very narrow selection of U.S. movies allowed by the censorship rules, and after Perestroika movie selected for public viewing were based on their guaranteed financial success.   And most of them, if not all, ended well for main characters.  Such minor details as deaths of secondary characters were easily dismissed and forgotten.  Even the movie Gone with the Wind that didn't have the happy ending, as I pointed it out to my dad, didn't have a really bad ending either.  Seriously, was there a single soul in the movie theater doubting Scarlett's ability to win Rhett back in no time?  Not in the mind of this 14 year old.    

Twenty years forward (OMG, this just took my breath away.  Twenty.  fripping.  years...)  After moving here and sampling quite a few American movie genres, I can vouch first hand that not all American movies have happy ending.  Ironically, unlike twenty years ago, I now concede that American mainstream cinema is very fond of happy endings.  (I don't know if director from any other nation could as successfully make a happy ending out of a Holocaust story.)  And I concede this point very happily.

When young and in emotional turmoil about such fundamental questions as "Who am I?"  "What is my purpose in life?"  "Is there true happiness?" "Do men find me pretty?" and "How do I change the world in less than 30 days because this is how much time I can devote to any project without losing my attention span unless it's very serious and in that case it can be extended to 35?" books and movies with heroes in emotional turmoil appealed to me.  They were confused, conflicted, in search of something they often couldn't identify, much like myself.  I could relate to their feelings.  I could be them.  

At some point, probably after I got married and had kids, my movie selections were getting fluffier and fluffier (and books were mostly of the self help kind) with the wake up call coming after watching Unfinished Piece for Player Piano.  My Mom have been raving  about this movie every time she mentioned it and I finally was able to get my hands on it  Probably for the first time in my life my Mom and I saw the movie so differently.  It was a good one, but I found the main character and his search for truth annoying and overbearing rather than compelling.  The drama of a man worried about big truths and what could've been more than with his present life and people in it was quite honestly nauseating.  Most likely because I have seen  a variation of it played out in real life.  And I don't know about you, but once I saw a few people dear to me battling cancer, it is one of the things I currently do not want to see on the screen.  Ditto for bitter divorces, family violence and drug abuse.

A few years ago I finally had to admit to my former self that at that point in my life, and quite possibly forever, I was not looking to get invested in imaginary people's problems.   That when I find an hour or two a week, between dealing with real life headaches and problems and even drama, to sit down and watch something, I want to come out of the experience feeling better about life, myself, my and my children's future and the world in general rather than questioning G-d's goodness and fairness.  That is why I no longer watch most Olympic games (fairness...), sitcoms ( the inevitable Will they or Won't they plots lasting years are just too exhausting) and dramas (for obvious reasons).   Occasionally I accidentally stumble upon something more serious (Hard to Be God, if you must know what it is, please read it, do not watch a movie) or get a poor recommendation (after 4 + years you are still not forgiven - and you know who you are - for recommending me Pan's Labyrinth), which only strengthens my resolve to avoid serious stuff regardless of its artistic qualities.

Part of artistic and thinking elite I am not.  And I have made peace with it.  

My 2012 resolution

I am not big on lists, even though I should get into a habit of making them.  I don't think I have ever written down my next year's resolutions, which I mentally make about every other December.  Being as disorganized as I am, half the time I forget to make them in December and end up scrambling first week of January or not doing them at all.  I decided to break away from that habit, and actually document what I wanted to achieve in the coming year.  There were lots of important things, such as paying more attention to the kids, becoming more organized, losing weight, ridding oneself of guilt.  It would include not only the goals, but the important milestones and ways of achieving them.  It would've been a very good list, even if never followed.

Only at some point between thinking about it and writing all of that down, I got re-inspired by The Bloggess.  I started thinking as to what was it that I really wanted in 2012?  And I decided I wanted to feel happy.  Somehow between taking care of my wonderful kids and a new bigger house and work and finances and all things that life threw my way this year, I forgot about being happy.  It somehow slipped away, almost by choice.  And yes, to be happier I need to become more organized, lose weight and feel that I am a better mother than I am now; I know that it won't happen by itself.  But the main focus should not be on the steps to happiness, but on happiness itself. And if it requires not only taking care of big stuff, but doing silly things that brighten up the day?  Well, I am up for that challenge! 

I will try my best to silence the voices telling me that once one declares the intent of being happy, all kinds of hell breaks loose.  Because I need to be happy, and if I don't try, I never will be.

Therefore, there is only one resolution on my list this year:  2012 should be the year of being

                  Furiously Happy!!!

Wishing everyone happy, no, furiously happy and healthy 2012!

And if you never read Bloggess, I suggest adding this to your list of resolutions!

(Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess, being furiously happy, which could be hard to see because she is wearing a wolf. But she is, trust me.)

 Wolverines!!!
  

With a little help from my neighbors...

I just shocked my neighbor, profoundly. No, I did not run around the neighborhood in my birthday suit, set anyone on fire or robbed a local grocery store. I had done something much, much stranger. I decided to be nice.

About two years ago the house next door to ours was sold and new neighbors moved in. According to my husband there are at least three families living there. Whatever, they don't disturb us and we don't disturb them. As a matter of fact, they seem to be of the rare species in our neighborhood - the ones that actually use their garage and driveway and don't take up precious parking space on the street. And that seems to be about all we know about them. They could be some cult leaders, practicing polygamists, a band of psychopaths or the latest most popular reality family on TV - and we would be the last to know. Well, turns out that they know about us even less than we know about them.

I was taking out garbage tonight when I saw neighbor's daughter pulling into the driveway. As good manners dictate, I made my way to open the gate and save the girl trouble of getting in and out of her car. All of a sudden I heard honking, then again. I stopped opening the gate and heard the girl telling me, "Hey, I live here!" I asked her if she wanted me to open her gate. She repeated about what she and I and now you already know - that she lived here. Finally I said, "I KNOW. I am your neighbor! I just wanted to help."

It finally dawned on the girl that she was not heroically stopping the robbery of her house. She started thanking me, still rather surprised that anyone would actually do something nice for people she doesn't know well. Then she said something that shocked me even more than my good will gesture shocked her. She said that she had never seen me around, but she probably had seen my daughter. She went on and on and turned out she wasn't referring to either DD or the baby, but my college age daughter. In a nutshell, she was mistaking me for my landlady, who is 1)the mother of TWO college age and still living at home daughters, 2)is 5 inches shorter and 3) is at least 20 years older than me.

Once again, SubHub found the whole age thing quite amusing, but left me wondering whether marriage had aged me THAT much.

The Mysterious Affair in Brooklyn

This post will make the most sense to local kosher Brooklynites. Did you notice that about a month ago whole chickens - that previously were sold with all limbs attached - are now missing at least one wing and sometimes both? First I thought it was the Mountain Fruit schtick, but now that I have started shopping in Moisha's, I have noticed the same thing! Not that I miss them or anything because kosher chicken wings look like that have been on aggressive Rogaine therapy and are pretty much inedible unless you want to spend an hour plucking them. But I am curious nevertheless...

What's going on? Did they start purchasing their chickens from the abused bird shelters? (Just imagine that from the chickens' perspective. There you are at the shelter thinking that you are finally being rescued only to be slaughtered after they fatten you up. Unimaginable cruelty, I say. Unless, of course, these birds died of natural causes. - I'm going to pause for a minute and gag.)

Or did the chicken wings became the choice of poultry among the rich and famous and all of a sudden saw a sudden increase in demand? Or maybe they are using them to feed/torture political prisoners/war criminals and Madoff?

Here's another theory, maybe our patriotic kosher chickens are cutting off their wings to protest all the bailouts, stimulus packages and current economic situation? Or maybe their wings are falling off due to a lack of preventive care because chickens do not have universal health coverage?

Does anyone know what's going on?

P.S. For those who are not very familiar with the laws of kashrut, animals who were sick at the time of the slaughter or died of natural causes are not kosher by default. I was just trying to be funny, that's all.

SubHub Scissor Hands

A couple of months ago DD came home from school with bangs. I distinctly remembered that when she left, her hair was equally long on all sides. Not so when she came back. Turned out they were doing some project in school that involved cutting, and DD decided that cutting her bangs would be fun. Thank goodness she didn’t cut them too short, but that didn’t stop SubHub from mentioning to her several times a week that it wasn’t a very smart move on her part.

Last week DD asked to trim her hair. A bit. A little bit. SubHub is a man of many talents, and one of the things that he does at home is cutting kids’ hair. Actually, mostly DS’s because we like our little girl with pigtails, ponytails, French braids – you get the picture, we like to play with her hair. And we don’t like it when cuts her bangs.

Well, long story short (no pun intended), Friday afternoon DD entered the bathroom as our little fair and long haired princess and reemerged 15 minutes later with a shortish bob. To my bulging eyes and horror-filled “Huh?” sulking SubHub provided little explanation and kept sighing. This was NOT a typical SubHub behavior. He could only bring himself to talk about it half hour later when he said that our little angel didn’t have much patience and was twisting left and right, so in order to make her hair even, he had to cut and cut and cut. Enter the shortish bob…

It took us a few hours to get used to DD’s new look. She really looks very, very different with short hair. But we like it, mostly, I think. Between the two of them, they came up with a style that suits DD well and looks adorable. The scene of DD waking up one morning and demanding her long hair back hasn’t happened, yet. All in all, not terrible. And hair does grow back, right?

The guarding dog

It’s no secret that our kids treat my bed as their own. We broke DD’s habit of climbing into it in the middle of the night about a year ago (mostly SubHub’s achievement), and except for a very rare occasion, she stays in her bed all night long. DS is another story, and every night around 3 a.m. he climbs over me and stays in my bed until he wakes up for the day. In the past two weeks, however, DD crawled into my bed twice. Unlike DS, she just quietly climbs in and stays until DS shows up for his shift, and then leaves.

Last night SubHub went into the kids’ room and came out with the stuffed dog DD took to bed with her. “Look what they did to the poor animal, “he said. I looked up and saw SubHub’s belt wrapped tightly around the toy’s neck. “Somebody needs to tell them they shouldn’t do it.” I diplomatically withheld a comment: only two days ago SubHub was kicking the same dog all over the living room floor for reasons unknown to me or mankind, and of course, in front of the kids. Stuffed animal cruelty (big no-no in my parents’ house) is not on his list of sins, which made SubHub’s concern about the fate of DD’s dog even more perplexing. I hope he wanted to tell the kids that belts are not toys and didn’t start getting senile ..

Then we went to sleep, and a few hours later I heard someone climbing into my bed. I realized it was DD and immediately started thinking, “Great. There we go again. Pretty soon there will be two of them here and I would actually have to ask DD to leave (which I hate. It really isn’t fair that she gets to leave and he gets to stay all the time. But she cooperates, so I ask her. Nighttime parenting is just not my strong point, hence my sleeping arrangements.)”

DD, however, was not settling in. She wanted to ask me something. “Mommy, will you help me find my dog in the morning?” What? Where am I? What dog? Who are you? But instead I answered, “Yes, sure sweetie.” (Just don’t ask me for a drink, or light in the bathroom, or anything else, I really don’t want to get up. Just curl up next to me and fall asleep fast.) But DD did not fall asleep fast. Without further ado, she climbed off my bed and disappears into the darkness while I all of a sudden found myself wide awake with questions roaming my mind. What just happened? Why did she leave? All by herself? Was she even awake during the entire incident? And my person favorite: HOW CREEPY WAS THAT???? If you weren't there, it's probably hard to imagine, but take my word for it, it was.

It took me 30 years to figure this out

How come no plates/cards/balloons say "Go wise at 30?"

I just looked over my top ten confessions, and realized that at least one is outdated. Since October, I am no longer fast approaching thirty, I am quickly moving away from it toward even a greater number. Oh well. One day I will spruce up the blog, update some quotes, etc, insert new links for favorite posts, but not today. Today I will dedicate this post to turning thirty, becoming wiser (oh, shut up, miracles do happen) and things I have learned between turning 20 and now. No matter how much I tried to make this post funny, I couldn't. For some reasons most findings were either sad or depressing. I am either in a bad mood or was a hopeless optimist in my teens. Or maybe a bit of both...

So this is what I learned/discovered in the past 10 years, in no particular order:

About People

1. People who are very sensitive are usually the ones who are rather oblivious to sensitivities and needs of others. On the one hand, as my friend had put this when I shared my "discovery" - duh, on the other hand, not so obvious.

2. People can change. Whether they do or whether they change for the better is something that will require another ten years to figure out.

3. Not everyone possesses conscience. This one was a biggie and still scares me to no end.

4. Many people don't give the meaning of life, their values or anything else not pertaining to their daily life any or a lot of thought. This was another shocker.

About Myself
1. It's not as easy to be brave or speak up after becoming a parent. What seemed like a cowardly behavior in pre-parenting days starts looking more and more like a responsible thing to do.

2. I am not as smart/funny/a lot of other things as I thought.

3. I have learned to be more forgiving of myself. I also never had as many moments filled with self-loathing. It somehow is not contradictory.

4. Must learn to trust my intuition.

5. I must learn to shut up. Before I say too much.

6. I have an obsession with number 10. No matter how hard I try, most of my lists end up containing 10 points or a number divisible by 10. Even if I don't pre-number the points. What's up with that?

7. I would still prefer to trust people and get disappointed once in a while than trust no one to avoid heart break. Only now I say this with less conviction.

About Life in General
1. Achievement of any kind takes a lot of hard work. I know, we've been told that on many occasions in schools, colleges, books... But it really takes a LOT of HARD WORK. Like a LOT.

2. Not every fight is worth fighting. Not every picked fight is worth finishing.

3. Being right is pleasant, but overrated.

4. Life will never be fair to women. (On a purely superficial level only. I am not talking big scale fair - like is G-d fair, or something like this.)

5. Accounting doesn't have to be, but most often is boring.

6. This one is probably a cliche, but I will say it any way. The more I think I understand the world around me, the faster I am proven that I understood nothing... So the longer I live, the less things make sense to me. Not very encouraging.

Maybe the next decade will make me wiser.

P.S. If you don't mind sharing, what were the big discoveries of your 20s?

To trust or not to trust...again...

While I was sleeping…

Guess who left me a comment last night at 1.45 am? OMG, OMG, OMG!!! It was Mrs. G of the Derfwad Manor! I am never going to sleep again! Ok, maybe an occasional catnap. First, Suburban Correspondent, and now Mrs. G! I am becoming famous! If you have never visited that Manor, I highly recommend. A warning to my conservative friends: Mrs. G is unapologetically liberal, but she rarely talks about politics and is very, very funny! I particularly like her Secret Boyfriend entries.

But Mrs. G’s last night’s entry was of a different kind; it was a trip down the memory lane, about a friend’s betrayal. It brought me to thinking about my own experience with this subject. Unlike Mrs. G, no friend of mine ever stole my boyfriend; mine was betrayal of a different kind. Did it leave me less trusting? I would like to believe no. But this and other betrayals in life made me think about what was better: to trust less and have less fulfilling friendships or have real friends, but run the risk of another heartbreak?

So here’s the story of my first betrayal. Luda (let’s call her that) and I were 12 years old at the time. We became best friends pretty much the first day she came to my pre-K and were almost inseparable for 6 years. We shared all our secrets, mischief, dreams and crushes. I saved my treats to share with her the next day in school. We even discussed our kids playing together in the very distant future because we were supposed to be friends forever. Then one day we had a fight, one of many stupid meaningless fights girls of that age have. It was so insignificant, that I quickly forgot what we fought about and was sure that in no time we would be friends again.

But I was wrong. I don’t think I have ever spoken to her again, even though we were in the same class and physically in the same room for several hours each day. Maybe I did say a few things like “excuse me” and asked to return the money and the book that she borrowed, but it is also possible that I didn’t. Because the next day after the fight she passed me a note during a class, which said, “I told Maya (also not real name) everything.” I remember the note and the cold feeling in my stomach. Maya was the girl who was not particularly nice to me for some unknown reason. We never openly fought, but every now and then she would make snide remarks about or to me without any provocation on my part. I could never find what to say back to her because she was so pretty, so well dressed, so neat and organized - so much better than me… So I took my revenge once and only once by saying trash about her to my then best friend. I just didn’t know how else to express my frustration and regretted what I said almost immediately. What I said was supposed to stay between my friend, my true friend and I and be quickly forgotten like many stupid things we told each other.

And now all the dumb things I said in confidence were repeated to Maya. For no reason other than to hurt me, to win the fight. This was my first true betrayal. Before long, Maya’s mother got involved and fortunately didn’t blow things out of proportion. We had a short, but very unpleasant conversation, at the end of which this woman said, “Maybe you should pick your friends better.” If I remember correctly, I replied that I already knew that. I just hope I was polite saying that because looking back, this woman really couldn’t have handled the situation better.

But this was not the end of my woes. I refused to acknowledge Luda or have any dealings with her. I think she did not expect that. One night my father got a phone call from Luda’s mother, and in a 30-minute conversation got an earful about all the mischief I got into in the prior two years. (And before your imagination runs wild, my misdeeds were very timid, prank calling and smoking my first cigarette were among the more serious ones. But I am sure hearing about them, especially from another “concerned” parent and especially all at once was not particularly pleasant.) Needless to say, I experienced one of the worst nights of my teenage life. At the end of the very long conversation with my parents, I found out that they never particularly liked Luda, but never told me that. With all his outrage at my antics, I saw that Dad felt bad for me. He knew that I was betrayed. He knew that friends shouldn’t do what Luda did.

I think this whole episode happened in early spring. I quickly made friends with another girl in my class. Two days after classes resumed in the fall, Luda transferred to another school. I never saw her again. But some time in the winter I received a letter from her, saying that she was truly sorry for what happened. She never made any friends in her new school and regretted losing the only true friendship she had. She wanted us to be friends again, friends in the true meaning of that word. I quickly wrote a very long reply, where I recounted all the wrongs she had done to me, all the things I had to overlook during our 6 years of friendship, told her I couldn’t forgive her and the only reason for her very late apology was her loneliness. Had she made new friends, she wouldn’t be apologizing to me. I am proud to say I never mailed that response. I waited several months before writing another one. I simply didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to kick someone on the low, but I didn’t have anything to offer either. Then finally my new best friend shamed me about not responding, and I finally wrote another letter. It was much shorter, kinder, but still with the tact and straightforwardness of a young teen. I basically said that all was forgiven, but my trust was broken, and it would take a lot to become friends again. I wished Luda luck and expressed hope that she would find friends in her new school. She never replied. A few years later I heard a rumor that Luda’s family moved to Germany, but no one knew when and to where.

Many years have passed. I would occasionally remember about Luda and try to find her on Classmates.com, through Google or by other means. Then I think about what I would do if I actually found her, what I would say, come up with nothing worthy and abandon the search only to pick it up a few months later. I hope she is well and happy, and I guess I just want proof.

As for myself, I have answered the question of whether or not to trust someone again long time ago. The girl, who became my best friend shortly after our falling out with Luda, turned out to be one of the most trustworthy people I know. Our friendship was much deeper and healthier than my previous one. (And my parents approved. I think.) We still shared all our secrets and crushes; but we also shared ideas, discussed ideals, the meaning of life and love and pretty much everything we could think of for hours. We were still young and silly girls and had stupid fights, but we always made up. And we are still friends to this day, really, really good friends, best friends forever. Despite the distance, the time, the different religions, the not seeing each other for years and busy lives. And despite me losing her phone number every time I find it (thank G-d for email).

As I got older, I don’t necessarily think that sharing every single thought and feeling is necessary or even desirable. But I do know that if I need to share, there is a person across the ocean who would listen, understand and keep it to herself. That kind of friendship would have never happened had I clammed up and refused to trust anyone again.

What I did on my summer vacation...

So we went on vacation with our kidlets. It was a short one - we left on Sunday and came back on Wednesday. SubHub wanted to go some place with lakes and trees and away from the city. So we went to Lake George. Overall we had a very nice time, but one theme kept on popping up that spoiled it a bit: how to entertain the kids. If we went alone, this vacation would've been just perfect. However, there wasn't much we could do with a three and a two year old. Some activities were too mature for them, some too long, some were just too expensive to justify the cost, and overall there weren't that many activities to begin with.

All of this reminded me the times when my parents, my brother and I used to go on vacation. Those weren't just three day getaways; ours were for 15 days (those damned Communists and their long vacations!). And I don't remember our parent wrecking their brains about what to do with us. Granted at that point we were older, and I, being three and half years older than my brother, could keep an eye on him, but still. This seems to be a common theme among many parents: how to entertain kids on vacation.

So what did we do during our two weeks vacations? We went to the beach with our parents. We also played cards and chess with them, read, and did some basic chores. At all other times, along with other kids, we were roaming the grounds of our so-called resort. And it didn't occur to anyone to keep a close eye on us. As long as we were back in time for dinner and not too dirty, all was fine. We had relative freedom, which was enjoyed by parents and children alike. Our freedom gave them freedom from worrying about how to occupy us during beach-free hours. Yes, we participated in mischief, scraped knees and got into fist fights, but no one seemed scarred for life. It was part of growing up.

Were our parents reckless? Did they not know about child molesters? I don't have answers to this. All my parents say now is: it's was a different time and a different country. So did people change? Or is it that the media brings so much spotlight on the horror stories that parents are simply afraid to leave kids unattended in their own backyards, let alone community playgrounds? Is it good for kids to have this much supervision and pretty much no freedom from parents' watchful eye? I think it's terrible.

But don't look for me to start the movement for bringing freedom for children. Because I'll be watching mine as a hawk, or least try my best. Still I crave those innocent times and feel sad that my kids won't experience them.

Spring is in the air!

I was getting really tired of the cold. I love winter, but I love real winter, i.e. with snow. Not necessarily lots of it, but some and on a regular basis. This year winter seemed to be snowless and endless, and it seemed really unfair. All the cold and no fun. Winter jackets in April were starting to annoy me, and I began craving change, any change.

Well, be careful what you wish for. While all I was hoping for was maybe a new pair of shoes and purse to boot, life proved to be a little more creative. Two weeks ago we decided to move (AGAIN, might I add), and it seemed like I would be changing jobs. Last week was VERY full of excitement: we saw an apartment we really liked (and it was only the second one we looked at), and I had a job interview that went really well (and I wasn't even looking for a new job). My adrenaline was pumping, life seemed beautiful and exciting.

And then I crashed: the apartment we loved was taken by someone else; my column in our department newsletter was rejected; after the initial excitement wore off, the new job opportunity that seemed so good didn't look this way any more; and Pesach cleaning began. To top it all off, I went clothes shopping... I don't know why I did this to myself, since this is a sure recipe for depression, and I was already not in the greatest spirits. Long story short, lots of changes and changing (in the dressing room) = depressed SubWife.

As I was lying in bed this early Tuesday morning, exhausted, but unable to fall asleep, thoughts buzzing in my head keeping me awake, I slightly cracked the window open. And then...almost everything changed! I smelled spring in the air, and heard birds chirping, and felt much, much better. After all, the apartment that we have is not THAT bad, and the job that I have is pretty good, and Pesach cleaning will get done like it always does. Change is good, but if it doesn't happen, life is still good! And Spring is finally here!

I took a deep cleansing breath, filling my lungs to the fullest with warm, flower-scented spring air, and felt completely rejuvenated.

And then I started sneezing, and sneezing, and sneezing... Yep, spring is here...