Back from Montreal
Jun. 18th, 2005 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabotabbyOh, man.
As a testament to howaddicted I am to teh interwebs how much I love you all, I'm writing this before I've finished packing and checking my e-mail. (Down to 48 new messages out of 185...a certain group I'm in had some rather intense debates over the past few days that killed my inbox dead.) I'm alive, albeit frazzled and dead exhausted.
The funeral was good, as far as funerals go. We scored on the rabbi. There was a big deal with my grandmother hating the rabbi at her synagogue to the point of bribing him when my Zaidie died so that she could get a different rabbi to do the service. We had to do the same thing this time, too. Anyway, the one we got was really great -- despite being so Orthodox that he wouldn't shake my hand (I am queen of the Bad Jew faux pas), he spoke very little about religion and very much about the sort of complicated person my grandmother was and what her life meant to all of us. Funny thing is that he never met my grandmother -- he reconstructed some of her life from what my mother and uncle said about her, and sort of expanded from there. He talked a lot about the artistic things she was doing in the last few years of her life, and what a creative person she was. I wish I'd gotten to know that side of her better, because it was probably the only thing that she and I ever had in common. She repressed a great deal -- like everyone else in my family -- but I think she did find some joy in knitting and pottery.
Funerals are cathartic, anyway. I get the whole shovelling dirt onto the grave thing, really. (For those of you who've never done it, that's harder than it looks.) It was closure. I'm not okay now, but I'm more okay than I was when I left.
The shiva...oy. They could only do it for two days, which caused a minor stir with my grandmother's (relatively secular) friend. But seriously, even having it for two days was pushing it. We had to rent a hotel room, since hardly anyone in the family lives in Montreal anymore, and by the second day, only three people managed to make it.
By the way, for you goyim reading this, one doesn't send flowers to a shiva, but rather, food. Unfortunately, this tends to come in the form of "party sandwiches," which are about the most unpalatable thing imaginable. They are these insipid little constructions with marshmallow bread and various types of goos, like tuna and egg salad. I was actually sick this weekend because, for the most part, I was eating things that I wouldn't, under normal circumstances, consider food. You could probably make interesting statues out of them, though. By last night, I was dying for anything that had spices in it. (Fortunately, that need was filled by the best vegetarian restaurant I'd ever been to. They did this mock duck with black pepper that almost had me doing a Harry Met Sally-type incident at the table.)
Also, many of my relatives, particularly on my grandmother's side, are about as exciting as the little sandwiches. (My grandfather's surviving relatives are quite lovely. Deaf as posts, mind you, which possibly accounts for why we get along.)
But I don't understand most of my relatives. Their conversations are solely about basic life functions: food (and, as may have been implied above, gourmands they are not), housing (ditto for their ideas about interior decor), and reproduction (no one wants to hear about your children/grandchildren unless they are interesting. And guess what? They probably aren't.)
You have to wonder about this, particularly couples who've stayed together for decades. I mean, I don't expect everyone to argue politics or discuss literature -- but you'd think they might have read a fucking book once in awhile. Or what do normal people talk about? Sports, movies, music? All they seem to be doing is eating, decorating their houses, and trying to make more sprogs. Fortunately, the fertility rate in my family is quite low or we'd have real problems on our hands.
Now, it's not that I dislike children. Quite the opposite -- provided the children are well-behaved and able to carry on a reasonable discussion and/or do cool shit. The child that someone brought to the shiva was one of the ones that have splatters of drool and food all over their clothes, communicate in a series of gurgles, and bump into things. This struck me as odd, given the age of the girl in question. And then I figured it out. See, everyone was cooing over the kid and speaking monosyllabically. The pitch of the adult voices in the room rose by an average of an octave. (Let me tell you -- this is not very pleasant when one has a headache.) The kid was a moron because all she'd been exposed to was baby talk. The Maolets are probably as articulate as they are (even the five-year-old can have a very intelligent discussion with you) because no one ever cooed at them. Uncle Joe probably reads them the Little Red Book as a bedtime story or something.
I'm the end of the line as far as the family goes, incidentally. And I probably won't have kids. I'd be a shite parent.
Saturday, post-shiva, was actually vaguely fun -- I did some yuppie indulgences in honour of my grandmother (i.e., bought girly-clothes) and wandered around the city. Then I ended up back at my step-sisters' apartment (in frelling Westmount!) and finished off a bottle of wine with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wlach.) Now I get to do the whole Countdown to Chicago bit, wherein yours truly will get a Real Vacation, finally.
In other news, I'm now IWW representative for Hogtown, despite having let my dues lapse about four years ago, I had the fun of sending off my first $700 (give or take) invoice, and I miss my kitty.
As a testament to how
The funeral was good, as far as funerals go. We scored on the rabbi. There was a big deal with my grandmother hating the rabbi at her synagogue to the point of bribing him when my Zaidie died so that she could get a different rabbi to do the service. We had to do the same thing this time, too. Anyway, the one we got was really great -- despite being so Orthodox that he wouldn't shake my hand (I am queen of the Bad Jew faux pas), he spoke very little about religion and very much about the sort of complicated person my grandmother was and what her life meant to all of us. Funny thing is that he never met my grandmother -- he reconstructed some of her life from what my mother and uncle said about her, and sort of expanded from there. He talked a lot about the artistic things she was doing in the last few years of her life, and what a creative person she was. I wish I'd gotten to know that side of her better, because it was probably the only thing that she and I ever had in common. She repressed a great deal -- like everyone else in my family -- but I think she did find some joy in knitting and pottery.
Funerals are cathartic, anyway. I get the whole shovelling dirt onto the grave thing, really. (For those of you who've never done it, that's harder than it looks.) It was closure. I'm not okay now, but I'm more okay than I was when I left.
The shiva...oy. They could only do it for two days, which caused a minor stir with my grandmother's (relatively secular) friend. But seriously, even having it for two days was pushing it. We had to rent a hotel room, since hardly anyone in the family lives in Montreal anymore, and by the second day, only three people managed to make it.
By the way, for you goyim reading this, one doesn't send flowers to a shiva, but rather, food. Unfortunately, this tends to come in the form of "party sandwiches," which are about the most unpalatable thing imaginable. They are these insipid little constructions with marshmallow bread and various types of goos, like tuna and egg salad. I was actually sick this weekend because, for the most part, I was eating things that I wouldn't, under normal circumstances, consider food. You could probably make interesting statues out of them, though. By last night, I was dying for anything that had spices in it. (Fortunately, that need was filled by the best vegetarian restaurant I'd ever been to. They did this mock duck with black pepper that almost had me doing a Harry Met Sally-type incident at the table.)
Also, many of my relatives, particularly on my grandmother's side, are about as exciting as the little sandwiches. (My grandfather's surviving relatives are quite lovely. Deaf as posts, mind you, which possibly accounts for why we get along.)
But I don't understand most of my relatives. Their conversations are solely about basic life functions: food (and, as may have been implied above, gourmands they are not), housing (ditto for their ideas about interior decor), and reproduction (no one wants to hear about your children/grandchildren unless they are interesting. And guess what? They probably aren't.)
You have to wonder about this, particularly couples who've stayed together for decades. I mean, I don't expect everyone to argue politics or discuss literature -- but you'd think they might have read a fucking book once in awhile. Or what do normal people talk about? Sports, movies, music? All they seem to be doing is eating, decorating their houses, and trying to make more sprogs. Fortunately, the fertility rate in my family is quite low or we'd have real problems on our hands.
Now, it's not that I dislike children. Quite the opposite -- provided the children are well-behaved and able to carry on a reasonable discussion and/or do cool shit. The child that someone brought to the shiva was one of the ones that have splatters of drool and food all over their clothes, communicate in a series of gurgles, and bump into things. This struck me as odd, given the age of the girl in question. And then I figured it out. See, everyone was cooing over the kid and speaking monosyllabically. The pitch of the adult voices in the room rose by an average of an octave. (Let me tell you -- this is not very pleasant when one has a headache.) The kid was a moron because all she'd been exposed to was baby talk. The Maolets are probably as articulate as they are (even the five-year-old can have a very intelligent discussion with you) because no one ever cooed at them. Uncle Joe probably reads them the Little Red Book as a bedtime story or something.
I'm the end of the line as far as the family goes, incidentally. And I probably won't have kids. I'd be a shite parent.
Saturday, post-shiva, was actually vaguely fun -- I did some yuppie indulgences in honour of my grandmother (i.e., bought girly-clothes) and wandered around the city. Then I ended up back at my step-sisters' apartment (in frelling Westmount!) and finished off a bottle of wine with
wlach.) Now I get to do the whole Countdown to Chicago bit, wherein yours truly will get a Real Vacation, finally.In other news, I'm now IWW representative for Hogtown, despite having let my dues lapse about four years ago, I had the fun of sending off my first $700 (give or take) invoice, and I miss my kitty.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 01:27 am (UTC)I found out that he had worked to hire minorities into professional track jobs at the phone company many years before employment discrimination was outlawed. I had always thought of him as somewhat redneckish, though he was good friends with his black neighbors.
(I also instantly recognized the dentist (actually an old family friend) who had used a dull novacaine needle on me when I was 8 years old. After 30 years, I still remembered.)
At the wake, instead of evil sandwiches, there was Hackfleisch, i.e., chopped raw beef. I stuck with cheese, rye bread, and pickles.
I hope the kitty is well.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 03:46 pm (UTC)The kitty is surviving, apparently.
The kitty is surviving, apparently. <A HREF="http://www.livejournal.com/users/zingerella/14658.html"</A>Though not very happy.</A>
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:53 am (UTC)But still!
Freemasons </3
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:03 pm (UTC)Good for Uncle Joe. I know when we (myself, my parents, my brother and his wife) are talking to brother's boys (my nephews), we do our best to talk to them as if they were short adults, subject to the limits of their vocabs.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:04 pm (UTC)We missed you terribly.
The funeral was good, as far as funerals go. We scored on the rabbi.
You got Meryl Streep?
Anyway, the one we got was really great -- despite being so Orthodox that he wouldn't shake my hand
You got Merryl Streep!
he spoke very little about religion and very much about the sort of complicated person my grandmother was and what her life meant to all of us.
You got Meryl Streep!
Funny thing is that he never met my grandmother -- he reconstructed some of her life from what my mother and uncle said about her, and sort of expanded from there.
YOU GOT MERYL STREEP!
Incidentally, I'm packing too and none of the Wobbly t-shirt tags say "skanky size," so are you a small or a medium?
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:37 pm (UTC)I think I'm a small. At least, if I'm not, it'll look skanky on me.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 08:42 pm (UTC)This I should know? What do I look like: an authority on the subject?
I was hoping for an Angels-esque speech, myself.
There was nobody in your family named Eric?
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 09:01 pm (UTC)I don't think we have an Eric. There was actually some discussion at the shiva about the very non-Jewish names that Cousin Elliott chose for his kids, but his wife isn't Jewish so technically, neither are they.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 09:17 pm (UTC)Not yet, although I have coworkers who are major fans. This means they will eventually get the seasons on DVD and then lend them to me. That's how things work at my place of work.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:18 pm (UTC)Have fun.
ps: I'm not sure if you paid all of your late dues for the IWW, but you could have technically just re-paid your intiation fees and left it at that.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-20 03:53 am (UTC)Glad you scored on the rabbi. Shame about the mattresswiches--it's a pity people can't come up with sensible foods for these things--foods like fruit baskets, or trays of veggies and maybe some hummous (that's all kosher, right?) We can have roti tomorrow if you want.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-20 06:25 pm (UTC)You went to Yuan's? Had I posted about it in my LJ?
no subject
Date: 2005-06-20 06:33 pm (UTC)Ohhh, you think these fucking rednecks KNOW how to be parents?!?
I hate* you all liberals who say they won't have children because they "wouldn't be good parents". Parenting is something you learn to do on the spot, not something you can learn reading books. So get down and dirty and pop a couple already ;]
But seriously, I hate that excuse, because that's what it is. :P
[/rant]
* not really.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 12:53 am (UTC)Is it called Yuan's? I thought it was Chupchai or something like that. It's on St. Denis and Roy and was very posh.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 05:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 10:12 am (UTC)That kind of food-as-comfort is one of the reasons I have trouble giving up fish.
Also, it's not evil to think a rabbi is cute. They aren't celebate.