Jesus...A Kosher Bagel....and Iceland....it's good to be dreaming again

"Jesus this is good."

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My friend Amos sends me temple alerts when the synagogue orders the famous H & H kosher bagels from Manhattan. Loving them, I went right to the temple website and ordered some...to assure I'd receive some eating goodness ....one sumptuous everything bagel with poppy seeds and onions and one pack of plain bagels.

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H & H bagels are wondrous. Thick... chewy.... plump and substantial ....and from New York City....how can you go wrong?

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So for lunch.....I took my everything bagel.....loaded it with maple-glazed ham (not too kosher) and cheese (definitely not kosher) and dill pickle slices. Popped it in the microwave.... so the cheese would become warm and gooey.....and even in the dismal utilitarian setting of our bleak break room at work......I felt happy....eating the best lunch in the world accompanied by my new beverage passion....an ice cold diet Pepsi max.

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Immediately after I finished the bagel.....I realized I wanted to go to Iceland.

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Most of my travel history arrives like this....a sudden epiphany.... a particular country or place is waiting for me. I thought Israel was calling me (or was that the bagels messing with me)....but I knew after lunch...it was definitely Iceland.

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Of course there is no way I can go to Iceland right now.

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This week I'm working seven days in a row...and until December 14th.....I don't even have days marked off. A complete grueling schedule of book fairs and author appearances and even weird things thrown in like manning a booth at a convention for the next few days.... smother my calender.

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"Iceland" is not penciled in....there's not even space for it.

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Even if I could go in spring.....the wall.....oh THE WALL....that is my parent's situation is getting bigger and is waiting for me.

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Just this weekend, I had to call the police in my parent's suburb to do a "well-being check" on them.

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My mother's dementia has progressed to the point where she thinks she has paid bills...my dad is clueless and won't ask me for help....so consequently when I called to check on them....I received a strange ring tone and a message that the "phone had been temporarily disconnected." Since their neighbor hasn't been home, I sent the police to check them.

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My dad called from a pay phone and left a message that the "phone wasn't working"....but I know ....it's because my mom didn't pay the bill which has happened several times over the last couple months......I also know when I go home for Thanksgiving....I will be scared shitless with their situation.

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Since they won't come to me....I will have to go to them....assess...and figure out what needs to be done. It doesn't look good. But there is nothing I can do...except go....and then tackle.

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So Iceland.... is sort of a dream.

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But I haven't had many dreams lately especially with my work schedule and work.....and so this morning....I smiled.....my personality....my soul....everything about me....needs dreams...and I was glad to awake to feel the idea of Iceland in me.

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Geez I can't wait to bite into a plain bagel....what exactly do those guys in New York City put in the dough?

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A Return to the Temple.....

On Friday evening, I'll be going to Shabbat services with a friend.

I asked him to take me.

I'm not Jewish but a long time ago I took a baby step towards inquiry....towards the consideration of conversion.

I was living in Seattle and working as an intensive care nurse. By the end of my first year there, I was raw and lost. The university hospital I worked at was a tough place....a referral hospital.....and either the best or the last chance for patients in our region.

I started work on an acute myelocytic leukemia ward. By choice or chance, our patients ranged in age from 19-26. At orientation, the nursing instructor noted the prognosis was 52 weeks with treatment. I remember leaning over to my mentor, the buddy nurse I would follow, and saying, "You mean they only have one year to live?" She shook her head, "In reality, its more like 26 weeks."

26 weeks. We didn't say 6 months....because 6 was such a small number. We talked in weeks....because it sounded like more time...even though it was not.

At first there were so many things to learn about chemo and cancer nursing....the patients seemed secondary. But once I learned the technicalities, the patients surfaced as people. They were like me.....we were in the dream stages of our lives........I want to travel, I want to find someone to love, I want to get married..... I want to .......except for some reason.....I was blessed with a shot of actually attaining my dreams and they...for some reason... would not.

It was sobering.....I would come home and curl up in a blanket...with a chill...you couldn't warm away.

Because of my smarts in a few months.....I got bumped into ICU ...and not just any intensive care unit.....but the Cardiac Surgery Unit....which meant you were hot shit.

The tough working conditions....the status.....was a lot of fun at first..... but like the leukemia ward, after a while...the pride in controlling 10 blinking beeping temperamental machines hooked up to your patient lost its luster....because, quite frankly, a lot of your patients died.

I went from lost dreams to regrets.

The patients were mostly men...... in their 40's and 50's.....they had houses, children, jobs......all kinds of stuff.....but now....at this point...with their hearts blown out or about to blow.........they regretted a simple missed kiss......arguments....lost friendships.....and in particular the times they hurt people and left the wounds unattended.

By the end of the year....I felt like someone had taken a knife and skinned me.

I had friends...close friends....I had a boyfriend....but I yearned and needed the feeling....the belief....that short lives....long lives....lives suddenly gone or regained.....had their place in the scheme of things.

I needed a BIG GOD....the one I grew up with ....my Catholic God...seemed more like Gulliver on the island of little people.....tied down with hundreds of strings created by a bureaucracy. Vestments.....confessionals...saints...holy cards....bargain your time between heaven and hell...sometimes it seemed more like a carnival than a relationship....and I wanted a relationship.

One of the surgical residents I worked was Jewish.....as we hovered over labile patients in the middle of the night...we talked....his God didn't have a face.....you couldn't put him on a holy card......he was the G-d of Justice and Mercy.....but I worried I had the wrong blood....a lack of a lineage and of course segments of Judaism could also be very rule bound.

I decided to read more. Went to the library. Made a decision to go to Shabbat service. I circled a Friday on my calender. I called the temple and asked them what time to show up. I called another temple and asked them what to wear to the first temple ( I didn't want to seem like an idiot to the temple I selected.) I wanted to slip in and observe....to be stealth....to see how people acted...and how it felt.

The closer it came to temple day. The more apprehensive I became.

I was worried the temple door would open....and a guard would ask....."What do you want here?"........and I'd have say..."I'm here to look over your G-d." Blonde...blue eyed....I was also afraid .....someone would ask...."Who's your family? What's your connection?" and I would have to admit ....I had none.

I parked my car at the end of the parking lot. I wore a plaid skirt and a white blouse. There was no body guard at the door. A man actually smiled at me when I came in. I slipped into a chair at the back against the wall. I was clueless. I had never been in a Temple before....I had no idea of what I was supposed to do but figured if I huddled in the back....I could fake it.

My heart settled down. Maybe this would be okay. And then, a family....a man...two boys and a woman....sat in my row. The woman sat a few seats away from me. I was thinking...damn...how come there's all these seats and this family has to sit in my row. I felt exposed now.

I decided to turn and smile at her. She stared back. To this day....I remember her .....black hair....Middle-eastern facial features.....high cheek bones.....no lipstick. Every time I looked at her she was looking at me. I started to squirm. Did I look out of place? Was I doing something wrong? Maybe non-Jews had to be accompanied by someone....maybe....I was supposed to do something...register? ....sit in a certain place?

I was so anxious....I needed a diversion....something to do. I reached for what seemed to be prayer book. I put it on my lap and tried to open it but of course it opened the opposite way and it was in Hebrew. Now her stare turned nasty. I was sure a neon sign..(in hot pink letters).....was right above my head....with an arrow pointing downwards.....and blinking...... NOT A JEW....

Every time I looked at her....... her eyes narrowed on me....they were slits by now. I don't remember the service....I couldn't pay attention. My cheeks were on fire.....I was sure I had done something wrong....committed some offense.

The service ended,.....the family left.....I exited.....complete with my neon sign above me.

I remember a short....hunched .....older man....with silver white hair and watery blue eyes near the doorway. I think he said hello....I think he extended his hand. Did he say something about cookies? .....But I flew past him.

I returned the books to the library.

With wisdom and time, I look back and say....why didn't I just call the temple and talk to someone. Why didn't I ask the surgical resident to go with me or hook me up with someone?

Maybe I was too concerned about lineage....but I had grown up in an ethnic neighborhood in Chicago where lineage was everything....your church...your bakery....your undertaker....all had to be from the same nationality. I chuckle because my friend who is taking me tonight...believes Jews are born not made ....so perhaps acceptance would have been an issue.

But no matter.....I return to a Temple tonight.....

not solo but with a friend......

I have no conversion plans.....

I'm going to make peace....and to settle my regrets....in my heart I have always known I should have shook that old man's hand and gone for cookies......
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Troubled Dreams

Angels and Demons

I woke up early this morning...frightened.. my heart beating wildly. I lifted up my head to look at the clock--2:46 a.m. My heart beat even faster. Months ago my teenage son went to see the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose and mentioned to me that one of the tenets of the film was that if the devil was going to pay you a visit he would do so at 3 a.m. Prime time visiting hours. Well of course I know that's silly....illogical...but every time I wake up from a nightmare...damn... it always seems to be around 3 a.m. and last night wasn't an exception. I touched my husband's leg to make sure he was okay and then mentally figured out where my children should be at this hour. I waited for the phone to ring...but it didn't...so I assumed all my loved ones were sleeping--and safe. I tried to reassure myself that everything was okay...but it wasn't...and it had something to do with my trip and travels. I had been shooting guns this weekend (more on that later) and figured this was the culprit...because when someone hands you a semi-automatic ....it takes you only a couple minutes to realize it ain't for shooting deer..... and how many times in my normal daily routine do I actually touch and feel something designed specifically to kill someone? Finally, after much tossing and turning, I went back to sleep.

For some odd reason, I googled "3am devil" this morning and a reference did come up to the movie but further down the list another odd reference....this one from Pastor Art and Sister Sue from an evangelical church in Houston. Pastor Art contends that God comes a-visiting-folks between 3-6 a.m. Hmmm...All these late night visits are news to me and now I understand why I don't sleep so well some nights--too many angels and demons jostling around. But I couldn't help wondering....how did they divide the night up....are demon visiting hours between 12-3a.m.? and angels 3-6 a.m.? and who exactly claims the coveted 3 a. m. spot? Do they have a lottery? Take turns? Or do they have a check-in and check-out system?

So how does this tie into my trip? Well, about a half hour ago I received an email from my trip leader. Libya has closed it's borders in the south and to U.S. citizens probably because of the war in the Middle East. Our group was to meet in Tunisia and cross Libya to get into Niger. Now that's it's a no go.... the trip leader has emailed us two options...cross Algeria (there's a travel advisory/warning for Americans going into Algeria) or fly to Niger and then continue on to Benin and Togo (with a hefty increase in the price tag and the lose of a significant part of the Sahara). Yikes....I'm not going to bale out....and yes I want to cross the Sahara....but I've known about travel alerts because of terror organizations operating in that area for a while now.

I guess we're going to resolve this question some time today or tomorrow. I wish I knew at 2:46 a.m. who was trying to visit me.....angels or demons....and with what...an encouragement or warning.