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The Holidays: the Best of Times or the Worst?

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Dear Marian and Beth

Marian
Marian

Here we are in the Holiday Season. We just finished Chanukah and then comes Christmas and New Years. I sometimes find this time of the year difficult. It can be the best of times but also the worst. Why? I will try to explain. It’s because the pressure of what we think the holidays should be and how they actually turn out.

daughter, beth
Beth with son Jake and husband John

Chanukah

When I was a child, my grandfather would give us ten cents for Chanukah, that is all I remember. As an adult with my own children, life had definitely changed. Advertising had become an overwhelming part of everyday existence and the challenge for Jewish parents was to help their children cherish Chanukah and ignore Christmas. Did we succeed? I don’t think so.

All my children intermarried and again I thought my responsibility was to help my grandchildren feel close to Chanukah and Jewish life. So every year I brought a menorah for each family, candles for the eight days of celebration, and Chanukah gelt (chocolate money coins). Did it work? I have no idea because Christmas was an important holiday in each home.

Christmas

I remember the first time I went to my daughter’s house and saw the huge Christmas tree, decorated beautifully with presents all around it. My heart beat so fast, I had to sit down. I never said a word and for all the years following I saw the Christmas tree in each of my three children’s homes. After time, my heart beat normally, and I did not have to catch my breath. I also gave and received beautiful presents, it was fun and I was with family.

But I never looked directly at those Christmas trees.

New Years Eve

New Years Eve can be fun or a disaster. As a single person, I always wondered what would I be doing and with whom. It was no problem when I was involved with one of the men in my life. But alone, it could be heart wrenching.

Once I went out to dinner with a friend, she liked to eat early and so I was home by 9. Is this the way to spend New Years? She was furious when I would not do that in subsequent years.

Another time, I was home alone, saw a good movie on television, had a glass or two of wine, and went to bed early. But it didn’t work. I felt alone, very alone.

This year I am going out with friends, close friends, for a late dinner at a quiet hotel with soft music in the background. It should be fine, the “best” is something different at this stage of life.  We are all strong, healthy, and engaged in life and new achievements.

Happy Chanukah everyone, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.  Another year is coming.  What will it bring?

Happy New Year!

 

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City of Resilience

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Dear Marian and Beth

Did you hear that Juarez, Mexico was recently named one of the Rockefeller Foundation’s 100 Resilient Cities? It’s because the city has managed to overcome difficult years of violence and economic recession.

I find this incredibly ironic since that’s the birth of my life of resilience in a way. It’s where I actually signed my divorce papers.

Can you believe that? Back then you actually had to travel to another country to get a divorce. Now, it seems so much easier, although of course it never is.

But for me, after all the arguing and all the waiting and all the time we had to live together knowing the marriage was over, I had to go across the border to make it final. Of course it wasn’t easy traveling then when you children were still so young, but I had to make it work.

I flew to a town in Arizona to and then drove to Juarez. It was my first trip out of the country. I never thought it would be for something like that. It all seemed so complicated.  My lawyer wanted me to stay overnight because the thought it would make it all more legal.

I was so nervous that night waiting in this  place where I couldn’t even speak the language. But I suppose I was a little bit excited too. Mostly just eager to be able to move on.

That city has gone through so much since then.  So much bad news. And yet, there’s a determination to fight the bad.

We always need to do that too. To refuse to give in to the troubles. To refuse to let them defeat us.

I’m glad to see Juarez is still hanging on. I hope you both will always figure out how to be resilient too!

Love,

Mom

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Thanksgiving Feast

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Dear Marian and Beth,

With another Thanksgiving here already, I thought you might like to see this poem I wrote years ago. So much has happened since then, of course.

Love,

Mom

I feast my eyes on the children
my children
grown, beautiful
building an order to their lives.

My eldest getting married
to a wonderful young man
Another in law school,
not quite together yet about his life,
his vocation, his love,
But together in his head, his vitality
his assessment of things.

And the youngest
when did she get so lovely,
so tall, so slim
so elegant,
getting off the train
hugging her brother.

I feast my eyes on my nieces and nephews
growing up, getting taller
building an order to their lives.
Carrying the chairs, setting the table,
laughing as I torture the turkey

I feast my eyes on the richness of the harvest,
of young people
having birthdays, arguing about politics,
growing older, entering adulthood.
I feast my eyes on the miracle of it all.

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The Myth of the Yellow Kitchen at the Boston Book Festival

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Rhoada WaldDear Beth and Marian,

It was a perfect New England fall day as we set up for the Boston Book Festival. The vivid blue skies were a welcome change from the dark storms that rolled through during the week, and everyone seemed to be in a great mood.

It was fun to see so many people so enthusiastic about books and reading in this age of computers. People spent plenty of time on their smart phones walking by as they texted and sent off pictures, but many also had books under their arms as they passed.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I found that I really enjoyed letting people know about the Myth of the Yellow Kitchen.  I even sold a few signed copies.

Now that it’s done, I’m looking forward to getting out to the local book stores and doing some readings. Do you have any thoughts on that? Any suggestions?

I will let you know what comes next.

Love,
Mom

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Meet Me at the Boston Book Festival October 25th

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If you come to my house, you will find that I have piles and piles of books. I’ve tried giving some away, but I can’t bear to part with them. To me, books are a window on our world. It’s how you learn. It’s how you meet people you couldn’t otherwise. It’s how you stay in touch with the world that is and was.

That’s why I am especially excited to be participating this weekend in an event that is all about promoting books – the Boston Book Festival to be held in Copley Square area. I will be at the Merrimack Media Booth from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. with my book, The Myth of the Yellow Kitchen. The festival is an opportunity to meet authors, find out about new books and to even learn more about writing one.

It’s a great chance to connect with others who value the experience of reading. Make sure to stop by and say hello.

 

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My Book, The Myth of the Yellow Kitchen, is here!

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Myth of the Yellow KitchenMy book is finally here!  Writing the book took a long time.  I needed the time to write my story, time to face the issues and emotions of those early years with an honesty and clarity that only distance can bring.  I’ve learned many things through writing. One of them has been to rethink my views of gender, relationships, and identity.

“Give your husband your pay check,” friends advised me when I first started teaching.  At that time, my husband, Charly, held a psychology internship in various New York State institutions and did not make much money.  But did he really need my paycheck to safeguard his masculinity?  And what about my feelings of confidence as a professional and decision-maker?  In the fifties and sixties I never disputed the idea of fixed gender roles.

The divorce, such a tragedy for me at that time, became the impetus for growth, independence and the development of my abilities.  I did grow, I did change.  I moved from the traditional view of a woman’s role in the forties and fifties to an independent, professional woman in the seventies, eighties and nineties.

I have been fortunate to have had several long relationships with men after the divorce.  With each relationship, I was reminded how men were often socialized to a view of masculinity that was almost impossible to attain.  The myths about male sexuality were particularly difficult for them.  For me, on the other hand, the feminist movement portrayed models and images that helped me formulate new conceptions of both male and female roles.

This all became clearer to me as I began to write.

I started writing more than thirty years ago when I sold my house and went from room to room remembering what happened there, who we were, and how we developed.  Still, it took years before I could embrace writing, years of working hard to keep it all afloat and taking care of the children.  Then, there was little time and energy to write.  Now, writing fuels my passion and creativity.  Often I am at the computer at five in the morning.  The gift of returning to the past leads to greater understanding of the present, the one life I have, and my place in a larger scenario.

As I look back over my life, even now many years later, I am reminded again and again of that night long ago when Beth, my three year old daughter, was sick, really sick in the middle of the night and I had to rethink who I was and what I needed to do.  Then I found my strength in helping Beth.  From where does the strength come now to face the ambiguities ahead?

Sometimes the blessings can get lost in the murkiness of longevity, the shadows of unexpected ailments, the vagueness of where am I going, if anywhere.  But each day I try and reconnect with the strength that emerged after the divorce, the force to get a doctorate when I had no money and three young children, and the power to enjoy the magic and mystery of life.

I hope that you will read my book and find comfort in the possibility that crisis often leads to growth, new pathways and creative ways of thinking.

The book can be purchased at Amazon, print or for Kindle; Barnes and Noble, print or for Nook.

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Memoir Coming Soon

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Myth of the Yellow Kitchen

My soon to be published memoir, The Myth of the Yellow Kitchen captures what happens when the dream of “living happily ever after” turns into a nightmare–from divorce, from illness or from some other life-changing crisis.

But endings can also be beginnings and my book captures not only the trauma of endings and the struggles of transition, but also the challenge and excitement of new directions and achievements

How did I get from there to here? What were the choices? Enjoy my personal, readable testimony evoking optimism, affirmation, self-realization and humor.

I started writing more than thirty years ago when I sold my house and went from room to room remembering what happened there, who we were, and how we developed. As I walked from room to room I talked into a tape recorder. The essence of that last day before the closing is a chapter in my book, simply called, “The House.” Since then I have not stopped putting my experiences, feelings and satisfaction on paper.

Now writing fuels my passion and creativity. Writing this book, I was often at the computer at five in the morning. Writing helped me capture the magic and mystery of life.

Look for the publishing date.

Warmly,
Rhoada

A letter from a friend….
In my opinion, your book is an important, compelling, exhilarating, eloquent, and immensely gratifying “read”.
Your story as you have conveyed it so articulately, is both extraordinary and representative, though you were notably (for better or worse) ahead of the pack on things ranging from divorce to global professional achievements.
I relished how wonderfully VARIED and comprehensive were the aspects on a life which you portrayed so vividly: Upbringing, Family, Parenting, Love, Learning, Death, Vocation….
What a priceless gift for your family, friends, colleagues and everyone who is interested in life’s journeys–its pitfalls as well as successes.
Ronald Gross, Author: The Lifelong Learner, Peek Learning, Socrates’ Way

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A House or a Home with a Soul?

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daughter, beth
Beth with son Jake and husband John
Marian
Marian

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Beth and Marian,

I have always felt that the place that you live in is more than an apartment or house.

Every place that I have lived in is an important memory for me.  A real house nurtures the soul.  It is a home.  What makes a house a home?  What makes a place a home that nurtures the soul?  Is it the physical space?  Is it the surrounding area—the nature, woods, or water views?  Is the people who come and visit, the people you know, the relationships you developed while there.

For me it was the people who lived in that home and the relationships which evolved over years?  The activities that took place, your birthday parties, the holiday dinners—Thanksgiving, the Passover Seders, eating ice-cream around the dining room table when everyone should be in bed all added up to family history?  You and your brother helped make the house a home.  I loved when we had guests and what the foods we ate together.  Remember those everything bagels, the pretzels, the black and white cookies?

What also makes a house a home are the things in it because they are often memories.  For me it was my mother’s dining room table, my grandmother’s candlesticks, the second-hand bureau, and the new lamp that I loved.  All these “things” added to the soul of house and enriched our lives.  And all the events that took place, you growing up, me growing up, all of us young, but learning about love and connectedness.

What does your home bring you?  What do you want to happen there?  What can you bring to your home that will nurture your soul?

Love and kisses.

Your mom, August 2014.

 

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A Nightmare Can be a Beginning

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Dear Marian and Beth,

Life has its ups and downs.  We all go through periods of joy and satisfaction and then there are the downs, low points, sometimes even a crisis. That is what happened to me when I was thirty-seven.  It was the third night I was alone after the divorce.  Marian, you were nine and Beth, you were three.  Stephen was  eight.  Beth, you got really sick, 104 fever and at two o’clock in the morning full of worry I called the doctor. He said put you in a warm tub until your temperature goes down.  I did and your temperature did go down, but the worry didn’t leave right away.  Finally, when you were sleeping, I lay in bed and went over and over what was going on in my life.

That night alone with the three of you, I realized a phase of my life was over.  I had to take responsibility.  I had to take care of the divorce, protect myself and you, pay the bills, fix what was wrong in our dilapidated but wonderful l920’s house, make decisions, run a household, be two parents.  There was no one to help.  I had to earn a living, raise three children, take care of the squirrels in the roof, maintain the lawn, and call the plumber.  I started to accept it all and determined that what I didn’t know, I would learn.  And that way, the  nightmare turned into a force that helped me grow, change, and find adventure in life.

It is always good to remember that nightmares can become a rebirth.

Love,

Mom

 

Letters to My Family