Double Triangle: Jewish Food, Life & Community

It Was Twenty-Eight Years Ago

Fri, 25 Jun 2010 16:05:25 -0700

The time is twenty-eight years ago and the place is the Catskill Mountains in Upstate New York. One of my best friends, Jonathan and I escape the hot, humid haze and the inevitable boredom of summertime in Brooklyn and the Bronx, respectively. We're dressed in worn jeans, cowboy boots, and Grateful Dead concert t-shirts featuring dancing skeletons and red roses. Not unlike those skeletons, we're two skinny, scrappy teens looking for adventure, good times, and maybe just a little cash.

Jonathan is scheduled to work at a concession in a popular bungalow colony called Clearview, and I'm set to be the lifeguard at another bungalow colony. At this point, I'm not sure if it was Julene's where I worked for the first two summers or Vacation Village where I spent the latter two. In any event, before starting our "regular" summer jobs, Jonathan and I manage to snag a one-week gig setting up a grocery store in a forlorn dusty old building somewhere on Route 17 near Monticello. We unpack palettes of groceries, gingerly arrange them on shelves, sweep and tidy up until the place is fit to properly greet customers. At night, we crash on the floor in sleeping bags, drinking cheap beer, pretending to like it until we actually did, and we talk about all the girls we're sure to impress with our fine New York City charm.

We talk about how we want to be wealthy one day, and how we would always remain Grateful Deadheads and drink the same beer as we are at the moment. We're sure that although we haven't yet achieved our fame and fortune, we undoubtedly have the integrity needed to stay "real," just in case. In reality, we both know that we have a much better chance of impressing the female counselors this summer than ever becoming wealthy. Nonetheless, that little detail doesn't stop us from dreaming out loud.

Today, 28 years later, Jonathan is a New York-based real-estate mogul and entrepreneur. I'm also financially comfortable. Just as originally planned, we both switch on the Grateful Dead channel on XM radio from time to time, and when we get together these days we talk about many of the same topics we covered back then. We don't drink Genesee Ale, though, but maybe one day we will...

A year or two earlier, I was up at Julene's the week before camp started, getting the pool ready, cleaning it, adjusting the chlorine to levels tolerable by most humans, and making sure we had all the first-aid equipment needed for a summer of sunburns, scrapes, and cuts. I remember one incredibly stormy afternoon during that week. The rain pounded the flimsy wooden roof of the bungalow I occupied. There were no electronic games, no TV, just a book and plenty of time. I was bored.

Just then, I hear voices outside, then a knock on the door. I see a teenage boy peering into the glass panel on the door and people I believe to be his parents. They seem to be noisily arguing with their son. I frown at the ruckus, pause to consider my options, then tentatively open the door, and the boy enters. He introduces himself as Adam, the first counselor to arrive at Julene's that summer. He will be my roommate until my buddy Lenny arrives in a few days. Adam is obviously a smart guy and has a dry but good sense of humor. The ability to make friends instantly has left me throughout the years, but on that summer afternoon I welcome Adam and enjoy the company. I establish that he's interested in girls, drinks beer, and is entertaining, so it's all good.

As one of the most amazing chapters of my life is about to unfold, little do I know that I will learn one of the more serious lessons of my life concerning my regretful treatment of Adam, something that will occur to me for decades.

Throughout that summer, I was involved in playing a few cruel practical jokes on Adam. At the time, it all seemed to be in good fun -- just a bunch of teenagers left to their own devices without proper supervision. But as he correctly said much later in life, it was beyond the pale.

Twenty-eight years later, Adam turns out to be a renowned journalist, blessed with great friends, loved and admired by his wonderful family. As luck would have it, I have some indirect contact with him in the professional arena. But the real lesson I learned from Adam is that I should have treated everyone from those days with respect and friendship. The price I've paid, other than ongoing regret, is the loss of a friendship that would have enriched my own life and which started that rainy day but was lost shortly thereafter because of my poor judgment. It was my loss.

* * *

In total, I was a lifeguard in the Catskills for four summers. More like three and a half, actually, as I was unceremoniously kicked out by the owners of the Vacation Village bungalow colony in the middle of my second summer there. Something having to do with my repeated visits to the female counselors' bungalow after dark, something that was strictly forbidden, with good reason.

In some ways, the first summer was the most notable for me, although the other summers gave me the advantage of experience gained by knowing the lay of the land.

Most of all, there was a sense of great adventure as it was my first time being away from home for months. Until then, my world consisted mainly of the brown jumble of graffitti-covered inner city buildings in the Bronx. But as we drove upstate, I had a sense of wonder of the open fields and mountains that lined the country roads. The Catskill Mountains region is a truly beautiful place and the sense of freedom was intoxicating to me.

During those summers I met great people and found myself at the center of a group of fellow-adventurers. I introduced most of those people to the routine of going to the Rocki Horror Show on Saturday nights, and they introduced me to dancing at the local hotels. We went roller skating, sock hopping, and dating in a place not patrolled by parents, teachers or any other credible authority figures. We were a bunch of teenagers set loose to live out our dreams for the summer, and we took full advantage of that opportunity. We seized the moment and lived life to the fullest extent we could.

We all knew that when the summer would end, we would all return to the drudgery of high-school and the monotony of being cooped up at home during the bitterly cold New York City Winters. For me, I would return to public high-school in the Bronx where I would do my best to fit into an unfriendly environment full of strangers, ethnic violence, over-crowded classrooms, and unmotivated teachers.

But for now, I was starting the best summer of my life. I couldn't wait to live the adventure. Ah... the anticipation was awesome!

The Good Boy Turns Nine

Thu, 22 Apr 2010 10:26:00 -0700

It's another amazingly beautiful day in Southern California and I'm driving away from the children's school at about 7:45am. Just me and the Good Boy. It's a big day for him -- he's now nine years old!

We just dropped off the Sweet Sweetheart, backpack in tow, and as the birthday boy, he gets the day off to celebrate and be adored. By lunch time we'll be back at the school to pick up his sister, but for right now he's the Birthday King and he reigns supreme.

His Birthday Highness stretches in the backseat of my SUV and smiles with great satisfaction. He brought a new Lego toy with him for the ride, and he's holding it proudly. At his request, his favorite radio station is on, and he glances out the window and watches his classmates in the school yard. I can see his excitement level rising as the thought of being whisked away to have fun on a school day crosses his mind. I pick up speed to exit the school grounds.

The adventure begins.

We first head to my office and I quickly attend to business matters, while the Good Boy promptly sits in an area he calls his office and logs onto one of his favorite Websites to play. He positions his new toy on the desk, right next to him, and looks very pleased. For him, being at work with me is great fun, and he often asks to visit. He knows the people who work here, he knows where the water bottles, soda, candy jar, and snacks are located, and he plans to work here when he's finished with school.

Since the age of five, the Good Boy's career plans consisted of him replacing me and his sister replacing my wife at our company. Either that, or he will be a football player or diver, depending on how things work out.

His sister, the Sweet Sweetheart, for her part, might prefer to be a veterinarian... Or maybe just a vegetarian. We'll see...

Not wanting to spend too much time at work on the Good Boy's birthday, I prioritize my tasks, figure out what can be pushed off for tomorrow, tie up some loose ends, hand off some paperwork to our administrators, and head out the door.

As we near the elevator, which is flanked by mirrors, the Good Boy remarks that the shirt he's wearing makes him looks older. I assure him that he definitely does appear to be older than he did yesterday when he was still eight, and he nods in agreement.

"Abba, I love you," he says, as I place my hand on his shoulder.

I tell him that I love him, too, more than anything in the world.

We drive back home, where Beautiful Eema greets us. She's all set to join us in our birthday adventures, and she looks particularly adorable today. The Good Boy hugs and kisses her, and before leaving the house, he asks for a few more minutes to play with his new toys.

"Of course," we say. "Today's your day to do anything you'd like. You're the birthday boy!"

Ahh... To feel like a nine year-old birthday boy again, playing with brand new toys. Amazing.

So what does the Good Boy want to do on his birthday? Open up a bank account with the ten dollars he received as a gift from his cousins and the twenty dollar bill he found a few days ago in a playground in Thousand Oaks. We drive to the bank and add another ten, so he can match his sister's considerable bank holdings of forty dollars. He fills out a deposit slip, and in a few minutes, the Good Boy has the first financial asset of which he's aware. He's elated.

Next, we drive to Target, where he purchases yet another Lego toy for eight dollars, which he's been eyeing for the past few months, and by then it's time to pick up the Sweet Sweetheart from school.

The school's policy does not include taking time off for anything but illness, and so Beautiful Eema decides to hide safely in the car while I, the brazen scofflaw, head into the reception area to call the Sweet Sweetheart out of school for the rest of the day.

As I wait for her to arrive, much to my chagrin, the Head of School suddenly appears. We're face to face. An image of an old Western movie with the sheriff facing off against the outlaw flashes through my mind.

Upon seeing me standing there, the Head of School looks rather puzzled and tries to guess why I am there. He knows that it is the Good Boy's Birthday somehow, and asks me if I am there to take him out of school. I shake my head and am forced to admit that I am here for the Sweet Sweetheart.

It becomes obvious that I'm blatantly disregarding the school's policy, and the Head of School looks downward and frowns. I can't believe my bad luck to be busted, and I have to laugh at the thought of being "busted" altogether in a school setting at this point in my life. I have flashbacks from my own school days...

As it turns out, the Head of School is the same age as I, basically from the same background, and is a particularly nice guy.

"Oh..." he says, and leaves it at that. He's cool. I know I'm good to go.

The Sweet Sweetheart emerges from behind the counter, and I whisk her away quickly. I grin as I drive away with the entire family. My happy expression is part relief, part gratitude to the Head of School, and part happiness that we are headed out on this glorious afternoon to celebrate the Good Boy's Birthday all together.

When I mention my chance meeting with the Head of School, Beautiful Eema is even happier than she originally thought to have stayed in the car. Not only is she better looking than I, she's also apparently much smarter.

In the long run, though, whatever school lessons that were learned that afternoon will blend seemlessly into the large mush of years of education, while the pleasant memory of getting to skip school on one's birthday will last.

We ask the Good Boy what he would most like to do next, and after reviewing all the possibilities he comes to a final decision: Eat burgers at his favorite burger joint, then go out for dessert, then head home to play with his new toys. Nice and simple.

Over the years, I've learned that children can't necessarily be second-guessed entirely. Sure, I know what my children like, what they enjoy, etc., but at any given moment in time they may very well have a yen for something that I wouldn't necessarily predict. So, onward we go for birthday burgers.

I order a veggie burger on whole wheat, no cheese, no mayo. I'll add lettuce, pickles, peppers, and barbecue sauce later. Beautiful Eema and the Sweet Sweetheart order their grilled salmon on whole wheat buns, and the Good Boy enjoys two yummy well-done sliders, adds pickles and chows down with great gusto. Today, he is the star, and he grins from ear to ear with that realization.

Later, the Good Boy gets to play with his new toys. He sets up the Lego characters known as Bionicles, which basically resemble something of an armor-clad reptilian robotic warrior. Still with me? In a Miss America contest, they would not win first or second prize, that's for sure. But in the Good Boy's eyes, they are something to be cherished and the stuff that dreams are made of. I'll go with that...

Soon enough evening approaches, and the Good Boy senses that he is in the final phase of his Big Day. Beautiful Eema is reading a bedtime story to the Sweet Sweetheart about a mother-daugher reading club. I am in the Good Boy's bedroom, and he's in pajamas, teeth brushed, as he suddenly turns pensive.

"Abba, I can't believe my birthday is almost over. I looked forward to it for such a long time," he says.

"I know exactly what you mean. Was it a good one?"

"Yes, it was excellent," he answers. "But I don't want it to be over yet. I want it to last longer."

"Me too," I say.

At nine, the Good Boy can already experience the passage of time like sand running out from between his small fingers. I can see it in his expression. He wants to hold on to the moment, feel special, and relish the time. He seems to sense that special moments like this are great but, unfortunately, fleeting.

I also feel a tinge of sadness at the end of the day. Like all fathers who love their children, I want the Good Boy to have his moment in the sun last as long as possible. But that's exactly it -- there is only a limited amount of time before things change.

I, too, realize that my son's much anticipated ninth birthday is drawing to an end, and I hug him and kiss the top of his head. He curls up with me and we spend a moment just like that. No words are needed. I know that just as the birthday has almost passed, so too, is the stage in our lives when we can be like this.

The time that I can lift the Good Boy and swing him in the air to give him the feeling of being an airplane is running out. He's getting to be a big boy, one of the tallest in his class. Time is ticking, and I know the importance of enjoying it while we still can.

"You know what I think? We'll make your birthday last at least until the end of the week, so you are still the birthday boy. Then, the following Sunday is your birthday party for the boys in your class, and then we'll go together and you'll use your gift cards at the store. That way your birthday can last almost a month."

The Good Boy's birthday party this year consists of taking the boys in his class (it's a small class) to indoor skydiving at Universal City Walk. He can't wait...

The Good Boy lights up. "Alrrright!!!" He literally jumps up and down as the thought fills his mind with sheer joy.

"I love you, Abba."

"I love you too. The most in the world," I say.

Beautiful Eema enters the Good Boy's room, ready to read him a bedtime story. He gives her a great big hug and several kisses on her cheek. He absolutely adores her.

He gets into bed and pulls the cover over himself, preparing to listen to the story.

"Abba, can you stay for my story?" he asks.

"Would love to," I say, and sit next to Beautiful Eema.

The Good Boy smiles looks like he's in seventh heaven. Or maybe, on cloud nine.

Catch the Buzz

Tue, 30 Mar 2010 10:44:36 -0700

It's two days before Passover 2010 and I take a mental inventory of what more is needed for the breadless week ahead. Got more matza than we can eat in a week? Check. Got peanut butter? Check. Got jelly? Check. Got cream cheese? Check. Got six-thousand dead bees in a shopping bag? Check. Ummm... Yeah, really.

I'm standing at the window of the second story in our house with a window blinds repairman. As he repairs the middle blind with the broken wand connector, I stare out the window for a moment and notice something odd: Small particles of some sort floating in the air. I recall a news segment I watched earlier today about an unexplained sudden rise in allergies around the country, and I presume that the floating particles are actually pollen blowing off the trees on this particularly windy day.

The repairman removes the blinds, as I notice that the floating particles outside are actually not falling slowly to the ground as expected but, instead, speeding up and milling about in the air. I figure that it must be a cloud of gnats and I turn my attention back to the repair.

I watch the repairman remove the caps of the blinds and slide a rod out, releasing a small plastic cartridge that is responsible for causing the blinds to open and close. He gingerly replaces the cartridge with a new one, slides back the thin metal rod, and replaces the end-caps. The repair begins and ends in a matter of minutes. The repairman sets the blinds back on the bracket and tests out the blinds. Good. Everything's working again on that window, and we turn our attention to the replacement of several battery packs used in our remote-controlled blinds in the living room.

Before heading downstairs, I briefly gaze out the window again, and notice that the cloud of gnats is thickening and it occurs to me that I'm hearing an unusual buzz. I sharpen my focus and discern not gnats, but bees. Thousands of them swirling in a large dark menacing cloud around the front of our house, the street below, and our neighbor's house. I've never seen anything like it, and I note with unwelcome irony that I'm witnessing something akin to a biblical plague, as we prepare for the Passover holiday during which we recite the list of the famous ten plagues God brought down on Egypt. Blood, frogs, lice, locusts, etc., and now -- live from the San Fernando Valley in California -- Bees???

The repairman is as shocked as I am. We are taken by complete surprise and unsure of what to do next, other than gawk at the bizarre scene that is unfolding right in front of our eyes. And in my case, right in front of my home. So we do the only thing possible at that moment: Pull out our phones and snap pictures.

After a few minutes of watching the swarm of bees outside nearly darken the sky, a group of boys from down the block notices the bees and the boys start to take turns quickly riding their bikes through the swarm. They are giddy, shouting to each other, and I wonder if any minute now they will start yelling because of something other than sheer delight. Some of them were actually shirtless, as it is a hot day and they're about ten or eleven years-old. The repairman and I look at each other in disbelief. I mutter "Geez... The world's dumbest kids." It was only a miracle that none of them seem to have been attacked. A disaster narrowly averted.

The swarm of bees looked angry and there were thousands of them. We speculate that a huge hive must have been knocked down by the strong winds, and the bees did not seem too thrilled about being suddenly and violently evicted from their home.

Finally, I'm able to dislodge myself from the window, and quickly ensure that all of our other windows are completely shut, and that no unauthorized bee entry had taken place. Fresh out of options, I call 9-1-1, only to be told, "Bees is something the fire department handles. Hold on," and I'm patched through to the fire department's emergency line. Upon hearing of the swarm of bees outside our house, the dispatcher tells me, "We don't handle bees. You need to call a private company." Luckily, he is able to refer me to two bee specialists. The first one I call gets the job even though I am forced to pay an emergency response fee. Otherwise, they would be glad to arrive the next day at a discounted rate...

Within 30 minutes, the bee specialist arrives at our door. It turns out that an "extra large" swarm of bees has been relocating and the Queen Bee randomly decided to settle on a row of bushes in my neighbor's front yard. The bee warrior estimates the swarm to be around 6,000 bees and I assure him that I will pay for the "removal" even though the swarm is based out of my neighbor's yard. He proceeds to don his beekeeper hat and mask, grab his super special spray canister, and heads over to the bee epicenter of the San Fernando Valley.

I watch from a safe distance, glad to be enclosed in my house with an excellent vantage point from which to watch the battle. In literally less than 5 minutes he returns to his truck, takes out a large broom, dust pan, and plastic shopping bag, and heads back to the bee battlefield. He is victorious, and he returns to his truck with a shopping bag full of several thousand dead bees.

The cloud of buzzing bees is gone, with just a few stragglers visible and so, too, a mental cloud is lifted from over my head. The blinds repairman is relieved, too, as he can finally leave our house, check in hand, camera full of photos, and a good story to boot. He's exhilarated.

I pay my dues to the mighty bee battler, and head back inside the house. Got matza? Check. Got cream cheese? Check. Got a house not being attacked by a swarm of angry homeless bees? Check. Good... Hey, where are those hagaddas?

Great Adventures

Mon, 15 Mar 2010 11:06:15 -0700

I was having a discussion with my friend Rubes last week. We know each other since we were teenagers and have stayed in touch all these years. Rubes and his family wound up in Boca. I wound up across the country, in L.A.

"Yo, wazzup??" I have to smile at that expression. When I hear it, I know that I'm about to be instantly transported out of my corporate, suburban, fatherly existence into a much more carefree time of my life.

"Hey Rubes, everything's good. What are you up to, dude?" Even in our mid-forties, we're still dudes... At least in our own minds.

We catch up on our many friends who live in Boca. It's always a mixture of good and bad news, spanning people's financial, health, and family situations. Thankfully this time, I hear good news from Rubes.

"Doing great. Got rid of an annoying client. Picked up another. It's a big account," he says.

"That's doubly great! Adios to the pests, and hello to brand new, good business. Gotta love it."

"So what's with you? How's the family?"

"Everyone's good. The kids still like school this year, thank God. The wife's great, as usual."

"How's business?"

"Real good. Not breaking any records, but real good," I say. "If only things could stay like this for the next ten years, I'd be thrilled. Less stressful than almost ever and the money's still good.

"We finally made our decision about school for next year and camp for the summer, so that's a relief. I wouldn't say I'm totally thrilled with those decisions, but life's always full of trade-offs," I say.

"Sure is, dude," I can almost hear him smiling.

"Overall, though, I think I'm in a mid-life non-crisis."

"What do you mean?"

"Basically, everything's going well, family is all good, work's good, I'm in pretty good shape. No one in our immediate family is sick. Everything's going really well, knock on wood."

"So???"

"No adventures. That's what's missing. Remember how we used to have adventures when we were younger?"

Rubes starts laughing.

"Having adventures means doing ridiculous, dangerous stuff. Of course you're not doing dangerous stuff these days. You're a family man. You've got a wife and kids, so you stay out of trouble," he says.

Rubes knows me well, and he's right on. Instead of ill-conceived "adventures," which almost always included a brush with death, or at least potentially with the law, I'm now, indeed, a family man.

I've traded it all in for raising children, spending time at home, running a business, and being available for family. It may not be all that glamorous or adventurous, but it's a good life. I never tire from seeing my children running around laughing, or my beautiful wife smiling at me or laughing at a joke.

Growing up in New York City, I never quite pictured myself a suburban kind of guy, shuttling children to school, stopping at the supermarket on the way home from the gym, preparing dinners, and helping with homework. But that's what I've become.

It's really all good. But every so often I do miss the sense of wonder and adventure from my younger days.

The occasional roar of a motorcycle on my block confirms that other men in my neighborhood feel the same way I do. They may ride free on their rough-and-tough Harleys, but in their side bags are baby supplies and groceries. Good for them...

Ride Like the Wind

Wed, 24 Feb 2010 09:31:41 -0700

It?s another sunny Sunday afternoon in the San Fernando Valley and we?re home from lunch. Beautiful Eema is napping, I?m watching a vampire movie, Twilight, in the guest room, and The Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart are each in their rooms for a rare hour or so. By rare, I mean hardly ever, as our children love nothing more than carrying on a 15-hour conversation with us, usually beginning at 6am and seldom interrupted. We do love spending time with our kids, discussing their toys in great detail, their plans for future stardom, and the inequality between what one got and the other seemingly didn?t, but sometimes we just need some downtime at some point over the weekend. This is one of those times.

It doesn?t take long until the children are at Beautiful Eema?s side tugging at her, asking her to go outside with them so they can ride their bikes and scooters. It?s a reasonable request, and she tells them that she will do so in an hour. They then turn and make a bee-line to the guest room where I?m located and make the same request of me, as they don?t really want to wait an hour. I quickly pause the movie, to prevent any bloody vampire mutilation action from being witnessed by the kiddies.

These days, it?s not all that common for children not to have friends living on the same block, and even if they did, they could not just go out to play alone. A parent would be needed to supervise them out of concern for their safety. This fact is at the heart of the lack of downtime that parents get and, to a great extent, parents are often the sole source of entertainment for their children.

So, I head out with the children to the cul-de-sac. I roll up the garage door, set up a chair, and open my laptop. The Good Boy pulls out his bike, and the Sweet Sweetheart rides her scooter. But after falling twice, I decide that maybe she?d better switch to some other activity while she and her clothing are still in one piece. She takes out a soccer ball and begins to bounce it. It rolls into the street, and she follows, as a car begins to turn onto our block. I yell to her that there?s a car, and she barely responds. The car slows and comes to a stop, parking.

The Sweet Sweetheart continues pursuing the ball, and I make the point to her that we always stop and go onto the sidewalk when a car approaches, as we?ve done for the past 7.5 years of her life. She agrees, and continues to bounce the ball.

I should explain that although we live on a double cul-de-sac and there are relatively few houses on our block, it?s truly amazing how much traffic there is going in and out whenever our children play outside. It seems that absolutely every single car on the block (two or three per family), is in a state of constant traveling at all times. Every parked car will pull out, and every missing car will return within any given half-hour.

Sure enough, a few minutes pass and another car turns into the block. The Sweet Sweetheart drops the ball and pursues it into the street as the car approaches. She is oblivious to the car, and I yell again for her to come out of the street while the car nears. She reluctantly (and slowly) does so, and I decide I don?t want to keep on yelling in the street, so I take the children back inside. I look forward to getting back to my movie.

At that point, Beautiful Eema comes down the stairs and is instantly flanked by the children who besiege her to go outside with them. I explain why we came back in so soon, and I happen to notice a cup sitting on the kitchen counter, filled with half-frozen blue Lysol. While I was watching the movie, thinking that the children were in their rooms, they were actually making ?perfume? out of the fragrant Lysol, and actually had placed their chemistry experiment into the freezer for a while. I groan and air out the freezer, hoping that our frozen food hasn?t been affected by the fumes. I?m glad that things seem normal inside the freezer, but I?m less than thrilled at the prospect of a serious mishap at any time.

Beautiful Eema agrees to go out with the kids, and asks me to remove the training wheels from the Sweet Sweetheart?s bike. The bike is a small, pink, girly one, and used to have a small plate on it saying ?Cutie.? I highly doubt that the Sweet Sweetheart is ready to ride the bike without training wheels, and my skepticism and lack of enthusiasm for the project is multiplied by the half-frozen, poisonous cup-o-Lysol I encountered in the kitchen just a few minutes ago.

Nonetheless, I rummage through my toolbox and find a wrench for this project. I first pump up the pink and white tires, then proceed to unbolt the training wheels. I hand off the bike to the Sweet Sweetheart and quickly beat a hasty retreat inside the house, preferring not to witness the likely carnage. Just in case, I take a mental inventory of our supply of bandages.

As I take an incoming phone call from my brother, Beautiful Eema takes over, supporting the bike, and the sweet ladies of our family proceed to spend close to an hour circling the cul-de-sac in that manner. The Good Boy follows them on his big-boy bike. I watch through an upstairs window.

I still recall the time I removed his training wheels. The Good Boy decided one day that he?s ready to ride unencumbered, and after experimenting with the bike of a friend, simply got on his bike and rode off into the sunset. There wasn?t really any learning curve or falling. He just got on the bike and rode it, pretty much perfectly ever since.

As the hour progresses, I watch in amazement, as The Sweet Sweetheart breaks away from Eema?s support and rides freely, balancing without any problem. She repeats the process, then begins to circle the block like a pro. The Good Boy is dispatched to tell me the good news, and I walk outside to enjoy the sight of the Sweet Sweetheart riding like the wind, and to relish Beautiful Eema?s accomplishment.

I could write a whole separate article about the concept of letting children reach their potential and being allowed to try and fail at various things so that they learn to be self-sufficient adults, as I?ve written in the past.

For now, suffice it to say that I am proud of my sweet beautiful ladies, and I?m enjoying the moment.

Blame it on the Economy?

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 15:07:45 -0700

It's a beautiful day in Southern California and I gaze out of my office windows. There are mountains, trees, and luxurious Mediterranean-style houses with red roof tiles as far as the eye can see. Calabasas is an idyllic town, and I've always enjoyed spending time here. It's a refuge from the "real world," in a way. In the rest of the country, many people are in dire financial straits, while Calabasas is awash in money and the tranquility that financial stability often brings.

During the past year, I must have heard a million times how the economy is causing all sorts of pain. Most people, including me, are eagerly awaiting a return to greater economic activity as it was before the Great Recession. Still, I really can?t complain. We?ve done very well. Instead of sitting around waiting for Godot, we've streamlined our business operations and expanded our company's offerings.

Today, I hang up the phone in disbelief more than once. I'm on a mission to hire various contractors to do some maintenance work on our house. Here's how it went:

First, I called an air conditioning specialist to assess the condition of my system and install a simple component, before the intense summer heat arrives. The repairman arrives without an installation crew, changes the air filters and leaves without doing the installation. He underestimated the need for a crew rather than a single person. It?s not the first time this has happened, and instead of allowing him to reschedule, I don?t pay the company and proceed to call his competitor for a bid.

The competitor arrives on the scene, and makes the case for a $25,000 multi-system replacement rather than a $1,000 component. I smile and promptly show him the door.

I then call a contractor to repair some water damage that has accumulated over the years to our backyard wooden gazebo. I set an appointment. In the meantime, the contractor calls twice to reschedule. The second time, I tell him that it won't be necessary to continue to coordinate this meeting with his busy schedule. After all, it's only money, so why would I expect someone in the hardest-hit industry to actually show up to give a bid to a willing customer.

I then proceed to attempt to find a window blinds repairman to fix a broken blind in my house. After extensive research both online and through the Yellow Pages, I reach one of the few blinds repair companies in my area, only to be told that they only provide repair services for blinds that they sell. They won't touch my bought-elsewhere blinds.

I continue to attempt to spend some money on those repairs, in sort of my own economic stimulus plan. Spend some money, put people to work, I think naively. Ha! There's always a reason for the people who need the work the most not to take on the work.

I nod my head in disbelief as I continue to admire the sunny beauty of Calabasas. Maybe it?s not always the recession that is to blame for people?s financial misery. Maybe tomorrow some recession-struck contractor will do me the great favor of accepting my thousands of dollars in business. Who knows? Maybe not... Damn that terrible economy!

My Father's Yartzeit

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 14:35:03 -0700

There?s a yartzeit candle burning in a glass jar, sitting on top of our kitchen counter. Its little flame flickers about and dances on a small pool of melted wax in the center of the jar. In the dark, the candle casts quickly fleeting shadows, as I stare at it sadly, wishing there was no need for it to be there. It really shouldn?t have been needed at all, but unfortunately I?m reminded that?s not how life works.

The candle is in memory of my father z?l, who passed away twelve years ago today, according to the Hebrew calendar. Although it?s been more than a decade, there has been a certain joy in my life that is gone, and an empty space that cannot be completely filled. Although I?m extremely fortunate to live an excellent life, since his passing, there has not been a single day during which I have not thought of my father. Most often, it?s more than once a day.

At the age of 44, I?m supposed to have all the answers to life?s questions, or at least that?s what is expected from a middle aged man, like me, married with children, running a complex company. The truth is different. It?s a real eye-opener just how many times every day I?m forced to admit that I have doubts about the many questions I face. Where do I really want to live, which school my children should attend, how much more to work to produce each incremental business gain, what to do about philanthropy, how to be most helpful to family members, and the list goes on and on. I really don?t have all the answers I wish I had.

When my father was alive, I could just ask him. He always seemed to have answers for me. Some absolute, some not. But at the very least he knew to point me in the right direction, and it was very comforting to have his advice. I could always count on him to have my best interests at heart, with no reservations. And as a Harvard-educated attorney, my father was one of the smartest people I've ever met.

So now when I face difficult decisions, I often wonder what my father would say, what he would do in that particular situation. When it comes to pure business, I rely more on my own judgment, but when it comes to issues of the impact my actions would have on people, I search for my father?s point of view. He excelled at showing amazing kindness to a degree that was so selfless, that I am still amazed at the extent of it.

His passing was an unimaginable loss to my family, and he is sorely missed, not just on his yartzeit, but every day.

One of the things about my dad, though, is that I'm certain that he would never want to be a source of sadness to his family. I know that he would want us to remember the good times with him and how much he loves us and we love him. He would wave his hand dismissively and tell us to be as happy as we can and enjoy the the time we have with our families.

When the time comes, I want my family to know that I feel the same way. No sadness, please. Count your blessings and celebrate life.

Tragedy in the Community

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 10:29:10 -0700

This past weekend was marked by a tragedy of massive proportions. There?s a family with three children who attend the same school as my children, and one who attended the New Jewish Community High School in our neighborhood.

On Friday night, while the rest of the world enjoyed the beginning of Presidents' Day weekend, this family?s oldest son was killed in a car accident. He was seventeen at the time of his death. According to local news reports, he was a passenger in a car with two of his friends, both sixteen, when the car apparently went out of control, and he was ejected from the car and hit a parked vehicle. He was instantly killed.

We are not extremely close friends of the family, but my son is in the same class as the brother of the deceased. In this particualr school, there are a small number of children in each class, and so we?ve known the family relatively well over the years.

The tragedy caused shockwaves throughout the entire local Jewish school community. At the funeral, there were more than 1,000 people in attendance.

Beautiful Eema and I paid a shiva call to the grieving family, accompanied by the Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart. Both under the age of nine, this was their first real encounter with the topic of death. Thankfully, they reacted well, not fully comprehending the situation. Children have a unique concept of time, and they cannot grasp the finality of death. It's probably a good thing that they cannot, because as final as is death, so is the sadness of the loss infinite. I'm glad they were spared.

I shook the hand of the father and told him that I just didn?t have the words to fully express how sorry I was for his loss. I watched his mouth tremble, fighting off the urge to weep. I, too, would have broken down at that moment, and so I avoided looking into his eyes. He is a young, self-made highly successful businessman, maybe five years younger than I. His house is beautiful and luxurious, filled with games and provisions you would expect to find in the home of a happy, active family.

From my unfortunately numerous encounters with death, burial, mourning, and grief, I knew to some extent what this man must have been going through, but not fully. I?ve seen good people die young, children losing their parents and grandparents, wives grieving for their husbands, and other heart-breaking losses. But this had to be different.

As I shook the hand of the father, I knew that those hands had just carried the coffin of his teenage son, and laid him to rest in a freshly dug grave. I knew that he must have smelled that earthy smell as he lowered the coffin, and pushed the dark brown moist earth to cover the coffin, feeling like this just can?t be real.

I know that he felt like it must be someone else?s life, because this was impossible. I knew, because I felt those very same feelings on more than one occasion, burying loved ones. But this was different. This man, through no fault of his own, was forced to live every parent?s worst nightmare ? the loss of a child.

We walked back to our car after shaking his hand, and hugging the mother. Our children climbed into our SUV and Beautiful Eema and I stood there to ensure that our own children were buckled in, safe and sound. We drove away silently.

Swirling, Spinning, Twisting

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 16:59:03 -0700

It's five o'clock on a Monday afternoon, and I'm gathering steam for the next phase of the day. I give some brief thought to the past couple of hours since I left my office to pick up my kids at their school. Driving through the West Valley, I raced several phone-holding-and-talking mothers in their SUVs, a few gardeners whose equipment perilously hung from the back of their pickups, and the occasional motley crew of high-schoolers zigzagging across the road at speeds far too excessive to be intended to bring them home to do homework or study for tests.

I arrived at my children's school to pull up in the line of cars parked around the yard waiting to load their respective dependents and whisk them away to all kinds of extra-curricular pursuits. To my left there is a basketball game in progress between the Heschel Day School and my children's school. A handful of parents cheers their teams. The other team scores, and our Head of School looks grim.

Within a few minutes, the children pour out into the yard and begin to board their overpriced chariots. My children are called, and I throw their backpacks into the back of my own overpriced SUV, and urge them to be seated and buckle up for safety. The line is quickly moving. We need to get going and make room for the next car.

As we arrive at home, the phone rings. Beautiful Eema is on her way home from work, and wants to ensure that the children are suited up for their Karate class, by the time she will arrive at home.

Ten minutes to go.

I head upstairs and rummage through the children's closets to locate their Karate shirts. Found. Good. We're on schedule for the perfectly synchronized handoff. I rush downstairs and tear off pieces of soft challah, and pack them in two small bags, as a snack for each child to be consumed en route to Karate class.

Finally, the Good Boy, the Sweet Sweetheart, and Beautiful Eema are in the family SUV and it's backing up and out. The garage door rolls shut, and quiet descends on the house. I stand there catching my bones as if a hurricane just blew through the house, spinning, twisting, throwing the whole place into chaos, then unceremoniously gone in seconds flat, leaving the people behind to wonder what just happened.

I click open a can of Cherry Coke Zero, and flip open the lid of my laptop. It's a good one, and I'm instantly connected to the Internet. My RSS feeds instantly update and my email flows in. I discover that upwards of twenty-five messages have arrived since I left my office, but luckily, most of them do not require a response from me, which is my favorite type of email. Yes, in theory I work less than full-time. In reality, it ain't necessarily so.

Before I know it, the clock on the microwave blinks to 5:07. The garage door begins to grind as it opens. I can hear it from the kitchen. In a minute, the children will burst through the door that connects the laundry room to the garage, then they'll fly through the doorway and into the kitchen.

They're back. They're exhausted. They're drained. They're in the mood to argue and taunt each other. I'm not.

Beautiful Eema enters the house and reaches for the portable vacuum cleaner to do a once-over where the children ate their on-the-road snack, as she wants it clean for her day to volunteer to drive one of our children's classes to a field trip. We don't like it when other parents pack our children into dirty cars, and we make sure that ours is clean for those occasions.

Me? I calculate what needs to happen before I get to relax again despite the return of the swirling kidricane.

Thankfully, tonight Beautiful Eema is making dinner instead of me. I'm off the hook and left to sit in the family room long enough to contemplate the sheer quantity of activity that fills my life these days. I know it's the same for so many families, and I often wonder how do they all manage to do it. The only answer I can think of is the tremendous love we as parents have for our children. That's the only force in the universe strong enough to motivate us to live in a restless state of perpetual motion. And the only force powerful enough to cause us to overlook what madness it is. And I do mean that in the nicest sense of the word.

Delicately Balancing The Truth

Sat, 23 Jan 2010 17:04:40 -0700

It's evening time and I'm sitting in our kitchen, having dinner and chatting with Beautiful Eema and our kids, when the conversation turns to the topic of politics. For a change, it's not me bringing it up. This time, it's the Good Boy. ?Is Obama going to take away all our money?? he asks.

Good question, I think to myself, realizing that an answer is required, not a vague, dismissive one. It was a few months after the presidential election and the children were well aware of the issues involved, at least the important ones. From the serious faces of the TV pundits and most other adults, they surmised the potentially deep effect the elections could have on our family and on the rest of the country.

The answers are swirling in my head. In truth, I can say that the President will not tax all our earnings, but he certainly made no secret of intending to "redistribute" a major part of it to his voters, and that's what the Good Boy alluded to.

"No, not all our money, but he wants to take away a lot of it," I answer.

"Why does he want to do that?"

"He doesn't believe that people who work hard for their money should be allowed to keep all of it. Instead, he wants to take it and give it to certain other people."

I immediately catch myself, not wanting to specify which people exactly he wants to give our money to. No answer I can give will sound politically correct if repeated by our children at some other time and place.

So, instead of bringing up the realities of class warfare, racial discrimination, and Socialism vs. Capitalism, I try to put a positive spin on it, as I see Beautiful Eema's alarmed expression from across the table. I take her cue and try to spin being robbed by the President as some well-meaning charitable philosophy.

?The President wants to help out less fortunate people by giving them some money so they'll have it for their families,? I say.

?Why don't they work and make money like you and Eema do?? the Sweet Sweetheart chimes in. She knows that my wife is among the few moms of her class who work.

I tell her that some people aren't able to work, because they're not well enough or they need to care for very young children.

?How about those who can work? Will they also get our money from Obama??

I sigh... Well, there it is. They're getting to the heart of the matter. Truths that cannot be discussed with young children. Racial, social, financial, and political matters are minefields, as they can be misinterpreted if not repeated verbatim with all the sophisticated nuances that are required to be politically correct.

Telling the children the truth about certain topics requires an amazingly delicate balance. In part, because there is no absolute truth, only a subjective one formed by one's own life experiences.

To some extent, I want to convey to my children the so-called wisdom I've acquired in my life. I want to teach them what I consider to be the truth, so they will be protected from danger and better prepared to make their own judgments. But on the other hand, I want my children to have the benefit of creating their own truth based on their own observations. So I tread lightly when it comes to these topics.

In the end, I tell my children that some people can't find jobs because the economy is bad, and I remain silent about the other half of the truth. Sooner or later they will learn all the facts and form their own opinions, which may or may not necessarily match my own version of "the truth."

Restaurant review: Manhattan in Brooklyn

Mon, 11 Jan 2010 20:23:14 -0700

Superbly presented, delicious fare. Ample portions, friendly service, nice ambiance. Suitable for a family dinner as well as more intimate one on one dining.

Restaurant review: Business Lunch

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 21:11:52 -0700

Great pizzas, great salads, great soups, great sushi, great wraps. Prices are fair, portions are decent. Nice place for a hearty lunch in midtown Manhattan.

I must try it, sometime, for a fast dinner.

Restaurant review: Nice Atmosphere, Good Food

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 14:12:49 -0700

I arrived at The Cow on a Sunday night at dinner time. My friend Jonathan was in town, and we were in the general vicinity, so we decided to stop by.

The best aspect of The Cow Jumped Over the Moon is its location. There is no better location in Beverly Hills, and probably no better location in all of Los Angeles. Parking was very convenient, as there is public parking in the building. Very reasonably priced valet. The location is basically in the heart of Beverly Hills, right near One Rodeo Drive. This means that the restaurant is surrounded by a super select bunch of stores and good class people.

The atmosphere at The Cow is pleasant. It?s elegant without being too elegant, so you?d feel comfortable whether dressed for business or in jeans. There?s a setup for live music although none was playing while we were there. That?s OK -- the noise from a large family with young children provided enough audio stimulation?

The Cow Jumped Over the Moon is a dairy restaurant and its specialty is really kosher sushi. There is also a reasonable selection of Italian and American entrees, as well as a decent selection of appetizers. We ordered an eggplant pizza to split as an appetizer, and it was a good thing we split it, as it was basically a full-blown meal by itself. Although the service was good, it did take quite a while to get the appetizer. In the meantime, there was a bread basket.

Both Jonathan and I wound up ordering the Salmon Puttanesca. It was a good-size piece of salmon, grilled, on a bed of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes. The salmon was topped with a tomato-based puttanesca sauce with capers. We asked for the salmon to be well done (cooked through and through), and it arrived just as we ordered it. It was a nice dish with a good balance of flavors and it was satisfying, although not overly exciting. I would probably order it again, but I don?t crave it as is the case with exceptionally good dishes.

During the meal we were asked several times if everything was to our satisfaction and it was.

When I asked the waiter what the house specialty would be, he explained that the main attraction was the sushi, especially the Sunshine Roll.

Restaurant review: New York's Prime Kosher Steakhouse

Sun, 29 Nov 2009 08:51:23 -0700

Great food, great presentation, friendly service, pleasant looking. All the above sounds good, but does not even begin to do justice to this eatery.

Best steaks I've ever had, not cheap but worth it!

Restaurant review: Food Masterpieces

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 18:52:16 -0700

If any of the great 16th century painters were to come back as a chef, he would surely ply his trade at u cafe. They make make dairy and vegetarian sandwiches I ever tried. Their grilled tuna is incomparable, the fritatta's looks and taste is undescribable delicious. Their cakes are excellent

Restaurant review: Great food, great atmosphere

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:54:43 -0700

Intimate, romantic atmosphere, with live music on some evenings. The food is very good, the prices very fair. Located in the Upper West Side, it's an upscale establishment you'll want to return again and again.

Restaurant review: Good restaurant....rude customers

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 05:03:14 -0700

This was my first experience at a Kosher restaurant...I went with my husband and kids. Pizza was great, staff was funny and having a good time but they were all friendly and helpful and the dining room was pretty neat with the murial of Europe. There was a table of 4 sitting next to us and these customers couldn't be any more rude to the staff. From the minute they sat down they did nothing but complain...here are some of the comments that we overheard;

"The prices are high"

"This restaurant should give salads and soups for FREE to the guests"

"Our server is singing"

Here are my suggestions to anyone who is reading this....

#1 - If you can't afford to dine out or expect to only pay $10.00 than stay home and have a microwave dinner

#2 - Don't expect free soups or salads.....do you think the owner of the restaurant gets that stuff for free...It's a business people, they are there to make money

#3 - Since when is it a crime to have fun at work...if the staff is singing or dancing or even doing cartwheels in the dining room then good for them...having fun at your job is a great thing....

So if you are reading other reviews that state the owner or staff is rude than I would probably bet my life that the customer(s) were 3 times more rude to start with!!!!

Restaurant review: The Best Fro-Yo in SoCal. By Far.

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 21:13:52 -0700

OK. Here it is: The best frozen yogurt in SoCal. These people really know how to make frozen yogurt that tastes like ice cream.

Yozen Frogurt is a chain of frozen yogurt stores started by a local husband and wife team. The atmosphere is really nothing to write home about. In fact, it would be good for the owners to consult a restaurant designer, as there are several amateur restaurant owner mistakes evident. So, this store's success is based on product, not style.

Their claim to fame is that their frozen yogurt has the consistency (creaminess and sweetness) of soft-serve Dairy Queen-style ice-cream, not sour, icy yogurt as is served at most other frozen yogurt joints.

Yozen Frogurt offers a large selection of flavors, although my favorite flavor is Country Vanilla. It doesn't sound as exciting as other flavors, but it is the most ice-cream like. In fact, I would never guess that it's anything but ice-cream. Except that is has less than half the calories and fat.

Living in the San Fernando Valley, one can't help but make a comparison between Yozen Frogurt and Menchie's, which is another popular fro-yo chain. I might write about this in detail later, but for now, suffice it to say that Menchie's wins hands down for decor and being a "destination" with superior atmosphere and concept. But as for the product itself, Yozen Frogurt blows Menchie's away.

Restaurant review: Don't waste your money on this place!!!

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 13:46:28 -0700

This was very disappointing. It looks like it would be a good place, but it is the exact opposite!

We started with no soap in the women's bathroom, not a good sign. Then some of the items we tried to order off the menu, we were told they don't have. Finally we settled on a large pizza for two people. We were told to take a seat and the server brought us water.

Twenty minutes later our pizza came in a togo box. Confused, we asked for plates. We were told we couldn't eat pizza in the restaurant. The server couldn't explain why. We asked to speak to the owner. The owner said it was his policy to save money. He didn't want 15 teenagers coming in, ordering one pizza and staying for hours.

We were two starving people and the restaurant was EMPTY! He insisted we leave and would not make an exception. Even though NO ONE informed of us this crazy rule when we ordered the pizza.

The owner made us leave and called us "crazy." The co-owner tried to smooth things over, you could tell she was embarrassed, but we didn't care.

The previous review also had an issue with the owner. We should not support rude restaurant owners like this one. Your experience will not be a pleasant one at this restaurant. Save your money for a place that deserves it!

Restaurant review: Middle of the Road Middle Eastern

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 13:36:25 -0700

The Hummus Bar & Grill in Tarzana is located near some of our favorite places to eat, so having noticed it on several occasions, we finally decided to try it.

First, the basics: The restaurant is a casual, attractive place, with about 1/3 of it occupied by the open cooking area, which is populated at all times by a group of busy cooks and waiters. It serves Israeli cuisine, complete with items like skewered chicken thigh and beef, malt beer, Moroccan fish, Turkish coffee and, of course, hummus, falafel, and shawarma.

Pretty much, every waiter and waitress is Israeli, as matched by an almost exclusively Israeli clientele.

As soon as we were seated, a waitress brought small plates with chickpeas & tahini, pickles, salsa, and a laffa that overflowed onto the table. The laffa was the best, and the rest ranged from reasonable to unappealing.

After taking our drink orders, the waitress apparently moved on to bigger and better things than providing us with service. Getting her attention to ask her to take our order was not possible, despite our repeated attempts. Finally, another waitress shouted for her and persuaded her to take our order.

We ordered a Moroccan fish dish and a grilled chicken, with sides of rice and salad, as well as a plate of pine nut hummus.

The food arrived within a reasonable amount of time, although I sent back my chicken breast to be grilled a little more. It wasn't actually undercooked, but I did order it more well done than usual and did not receive it that way initially.

The hummus plate looked great. It did not have a strong, typical hummus flavor, but was excellent. The Moroccan fish (which was actually salmon), looked very appetizing, accompanied by potatoes and other seasoned vegetables and herbs. It was very good, although a bit too spicy.

The grilled chicken also had a good appearance, but was fairly tasteless. I would not recommend it. The sides of rice were good, although plain.

Again, it was challenging to get the waitress' attention during the meal, as she did her best to avoid making eye contact with her customers. You never know: Those darn customers may start demanding service or order more food if you make contact.

I attempted to finish the meal with a Turkish coffee, but it arrived so incredibly hot that it simply took too long to cool down to a comfortably drinkable temperature before we had to leave. Oh, well...

Overall, the Hummus Bar & Grill in Tarzana is a so-so place to eat. It's okay, but certainly not exciting in any way. I would probably eat there again just for variety sake, but not as a first choice.