“Well I'm gonna go then! And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything. Except this… Just this ashtray...And this paddle game. The ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need... And this remote control. - The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need... And these matches.
What you are about to read may contain graphic descriptions and disturbing recommendations. Reader discretion is advised.
Within 90 seconds of entering my hotel room at the Baltimore Hilton for the 2010 Partnership for Excellence in Jewish Education (PEJE) Conference, I realized that something was wrong: my laptop was missing.
Could I? Physically, yes. While you might not be able to see my biceps from afar (or, sadly, even from a-near), I am capable of lifting the bag from the can, walking it down the hall, and taking it outside to our garbage bins.
Eleanor Roosevelt famously remarked, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Nobody, that is, except for my nine-year old daughter Sophie who sat next to me at the breakfast table gleefully mastering a week’s worth of New York Times math puzzles, while I thumbed through the Arts and Leisure section, looking for the latest gossip on my favorite TV show, GLEE.
“Mom. Mom. MOM!” Sophie interrupted my reading. “Can you help me with this one?”
If I were a doctor or a lawyer, I might not get asked this question as often as I do: “How did you get into this line of work?” Apparently, to some folks, there’s something quixotic, exotic, and perhaps idiotic about someone who does public speaking for a living.
On our end-of summer family vacation to San Francisco, my husband Michael and I were delighted to spend quality time with our adventurous West Coast cousins, we were enchanted by the snap-fresh organic produce at the Ferry Terminal Farmer's Market, and felt mesmerized by the gigantic Redwood trees at Muir Woods. It was an abundant blessing of family, food and forestry.