Heated Yoga

This princess from the Caspian Sea is a wee bit high strung. LIES. Alright, I will confess to being highly high strong. Truths! Sitting in peace, watching my mind’s eye, breathing to reach a deep relaxation takes EFFORT. A lot of it. Mix in issues with flexibility since childhood and one can quickly understand the logic behind searching, finding and grasping for peaceful times, moments and aids.


Unlike some folks on this planet, I have chosen to steer clear from lorazepam or alcohol to chill the nerves and relax my soul. Sure a glass of red is nice, but the effects only last for so long. As for my lack of flexibility, I will confess to regular massotherapy to release tense muscles.

The past two weeks I have been searching for a place where I would feel at ease with my lack of flexibility in public while embracing inner love and acceptance for who I am. Tall order if you ask me. Would this be a good time to mention I am a perfectionist; it goes against my grain to be one with my limitations in yoga, while I see people fold and contort in shapes I didn’t realize were humanly possible. Yes, I am listening to the flow of messages from my instructor to be forgiving, kind, open and ONE with where I am at. I am not.

It’s a process. Like everything else in life. I found a cute studio in NDG, highly touted by many followers. The reception staff is positive, kind and informative. The locker area is clean, with a bare minimum facility. A few studios offering different types of yoga in a heated room, with cork style flooring and mirrors on one side and window panes on the other. Once again a minimalist approach with few visible distractions to allow for one to relax, release and breathe.

Thus far, I have attended two classes. The heated element in yoga is a challenge. You are not quite sure how much or how little to wear. As a neophyte, you walk in as you would for a dance class. You place your mat on the cork floor and sit while watching all walks of life enter the room. Men don’t like to wear shirts. Just bottoms. Wow. A single girl can get used to that. Some ladies wear stringy tops and short SHORT bottoms. I am a visual being. It’s a lot of skin. Nice tattoos. Nice definition on men and women. Nice toe nails. Nice nape. Focus Princess!!! Focus on breathing! Soften your tongue and cheeks while you attempt at contorting in ways you didn’t know were possible. Too many distractions.

Twenty minutes into the class, sweat begins to pour down from the tip of one’s hair follicle all the way down to one’s toe. Breathe. The scent in the room changes. Why don’t some wear deodorant? Why won’t that man wear a shirt to catch some of his drippings? Why won’t she wipe the puddles of sweat near me? Focus on the pose at hand, Princess. One pose extends the arm a wee bit further than one is used to. Oh no, was that a GLOB of someone’s sweat that flung on my mat? This is intimate. I don’t even know your name?

I went a second time. To be fair, of course. This time it was a smaller studio with an intimate group of men and women with a hands-on instructor who clearly takes pride in her craft. I liked her teaching style. I liked that she quickly glanced at the newbies who were not as flexible as the regulars. I liked that she came by and offered alternate poses to make it less challenging and more feasible. She individualized her teaching. I liked that. I appreciated it.

Sadly, the sweat factor was worse. Buckets of sweat on either side of mats by the time the twenty minute mark hit. In some instances, as I tried to breathe and accept the tension I was feeling while creating space, I focused on feet. How many folks in this room have plantar warts? Are they treating it? Does it really matter? Do I want to walk around barefoot? I love walking around barefoot. I love the cool feel of the ground, or sand between my toes. I am not loving this sweaty cork floor.

I will go a third time. To be fair, once again. Perhaps, I will embrace this experience and become one with my PAIN. Breathe. Release. Create space.

Meantime, I have questions. In India, where the practice of yoga began, did the yogis wear sexy LULULEMONs? Did the men and women dress in minimal clothing? Are there mirrors in yoga studios in Mumbai? That being asked, if we are picking and choosing what we take from other cultures, why haven’t we thought of adding a better ventilation system in our Western World and a solution to this sweaty drippy mess. I like saunas. I like steam rooms. I do believe in detoxification. I love an intense workout where am sweating like mad. The proximity of people and the visuals while profusely sweating are not inviting to me. Bikram yoga is definitely out of the question too, for this little lady.

Perhaps, just a regular yoga class will do. Hot stone massage is a whole other story. Bring it on!

Namaste.

From slush to sand. The Yucatan Peninsula in 2011

The Princess and her sons decided to ring in the 2011 New Year with the Mayans. According to their 2012 Prophecy, this is our last year to enjoy this beautiful world. What better way to celebrate the changing year then by immersing oneself in their sand, sun and Agave plants. No, this princess has not developed a sudden interest in horticulture. Instead, she has discovered the essence of La Sauza. For the lay, this means Tequila. For those interested in the reasons behind worms in some lower end Tequila bottles...it has medicinal properties. Apparently, the Agave hosts those same worms and the elderly benefit from the “vitaminas” in the cocktail.

Though the weather in Montreal has been mild and gorgeous, one needs not an excuse to pass up the chance to roam sandy, sugar beaches, staring at the ocean under a palapa with an exotic drink at hand, kayaking the rocky waves, listening to endless tunes of Bob Marley “one love, one heart”...seriously, when did all sunny destinations become Marley Reps? Does Mexico not have its own music icon?

Resort culture is an interesting breed of community spirit. It is the one place where we roam freely with little clothing on. In fact, in some cases, some prefer the topless appeal of beachwear. Two ladies in their forties seemed to show little inhibition to sunbathe topless...even when one lady’s husband wondered if it was appropriate when my sons were blatantly staring at THEM. Interestingly, the lady did say the following “what’s the big deal, dear, they are not even REAL...remember, implants, Babe!” Upon closer inspection, I have to say she must have asked for a discounted rate...they were far from SPECTACULAR!

All inclusive resorts are in fact very appealing. You rarely need a wallet during the duration of your stay. Meals, activities and liquor are endless. It never seemed to be an issue until this trip where my adolescent son (almost 15) was wondering why was EVERYONE drunk starting from breakfast? I know of this one Princess who began a trend at the local coffee shop at 7am, where she would request her usual non-fat latte with a splash of Baileys. What??? Don’t knock it until you try it. I do need to royally thank the Emirates Winds for teaching me this most delightful, naughty behaviour. Baileys is now the better part of my healthy breakfast.

Aqua aerobics is a great social mixer for single folks. Oh ya, it also has an added advantage for keeping one fit. This is the one venue where you roam in your bathing suit, need not worry about your make up or hair-do and you bounce, punch, hop and hold hands with strangers. Why don’t I do aqua fitness back home? Should I check the local YMCA for the singles’ aqua mixer? Another interesting fact is watching the spectators watching the fitness buffs. It’s exhausting! Especially, when you are at the swim up bar at 11am having downed three rounds of the cocktail of the day.

All the beach front cuartos (bedrooms) had these outdoor Jacuzzis. As were walking along the path, my eldest saw an older middle-aged man about to enter his tub with his rubber ducky. At which point, my son screams out loud “Ah C’MON, whatever happened to people having boundaries?”

All this being said, it has been a pleasure awaking at 5:45am to walk out of my room and walk right on the sandy beach, find a chair and listen to the waves all the while watching the sunrise. No two sunrises look the same. I have seen various hues of orange and blue purple with fluffs of clouds. The pelicans that fly over head scouting for the next fish are a show stopper. I don’t stop often enough to watch the sunrise. About seven months ago, I had made it a point to sleep with half my shades down to allow the astonishing morning glow in my room. The habit had stopped. It’s now time to bring it back to LIFE.

Happy New Year! Here's to 2011!!

Early this morning, I came across this inspirational poem by Don Herold, an American (born in Indiana)   humorist, writer, illustrator and cartoonist who wrote and illustrated many books and was a contributor to national magazines.

I think it's an inspiring read, as we begin to say goodbye to the old year and welcome the start of a new one.

The New Year is a perfect time to reset some goals, envision new ones and strive for some semblance of balance in our chaotic world.

If nothing else, this poem will have you question your own life.

Are you where you want to be?

Are you doing the things you want to do?

Are you surrounding yourself with people who bring out the best in  you?

Are you pleased with your existence?

Can you make any changes to improve your current set-up in life?
Take a closer look.
Maybe this is the year to get off that endless "tapis roulant"/treadmill LIFE TRAP and start doing things that truly matter.
Laugh more.

Hug more.

Be silly.

Make mistakes, make more mistakes, learn from your mistakes and stop striving for perfection.

Seek out people who inspire relaxation, a sense of adventure, fun.

Seek out people who warm your soul.

Here is to NEW goals and a NEW outlook for life in 2011!!!!

Happy Read and Happy New Year!!

A poem by Don Herold

Of course, you can't unfry an egg, but there is no law against thinking about it.

If I had my life to live over, I would try to make more mistakes.
I would relax.
I would be sillier than I have been this trip.
I know of very few things that I would take seriously.

I would be less hygienic.

I would go more places.

I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers.

I would eat more ice cream and less bran.

I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary troubles.
You see, I have been one of those fellows who lived prudently and sanely, hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I have had my moments.
But if I had it to do over again, I would have more of them - a lot more.
I never go anywhere without a thermometer, a gargle, a raincoat and a parachute. If I had it to do over, I would travel lighter.

It may be too late to unteach an old dog old tricks, but perhaps a word from the unwise may be of benefit to a coming generation. It may help them to fall into some of the pitfalls I have avoided.

If I had my life to live over, I would pay less attention to people who teach tension.
In a world of specialization we naturally have a superabundance of individuals who cry at us to be serious about their individual specialty.

They tell us we must learn Latin or History; otherwise we will be disgraced and ruined and flunked and failed. After a dozen or so of these protagonists have worked on a young mind, they are apt to leave it in hard knots for life.

I wish they had sold me Latin and History as a lark.

I would seek out more teachers who inspire relaxation and fun.
I had a few of them, fortunately, and I figure it was they who kept me from going entirely to the dogs.
From them I learned how to gather what few scraggly daisies I have gathered along life's cindery pathway.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefooted a little earlier in the spring and stay that way a little later in the fall. I would play hooky more. I would shoot more paper wads at my teachers. I would have more dogs. I would keep later hours. I'd have more sweethearts. I would fish more. I would go to more circuses. I would go to more dances. I would ride on more merry-go-rounds. I would be carefree as long as I could, or at least until I got some care- instead of having my cares in advance.

More errors are made solemnly than in fun. The rubs of family life come in moments of intense seriousness rather that in moments of light-heartedness. If nations - to magnify my point - declared international carnivals instead of international war, how much better that would be!

G.K. Chesterton once said, "A characteristic of the great saints is their power of levity. Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly. One 'settles down' into a sort of selfish seriousness; but one has to rise to a gay self-forgetfulness. A man falls into a 'brown study'; he reaches up at a blue sky."

In a world in which practically everybody else seems to be consecrated to the gravity of the situation, I would rise to glorify the levity of the situation. For I agree with Will Durant that "gaiety is wiser than wisdom."

I doubt, however, that I'll do much damage with my creed. The opposition is too strong. There are too many serious people trying to get everybody else to be too darned serious.

Will leave you all with one of my all time favorite songs by Colin Hay, the lead singer from Men At Work.

His lyrics are precious.

How do you help a person going through an existential crisis?

My Facebook status is showing me as sleepless up North.

Sleepless in Montreal.
Sleepless wherever.
Location is unimportant.

I have a lot of internal noise going on all at once.
I have energy and not sure what to do with it all.
Emotions are overwhelming...
I tried all sorts of distractions today...running on the treadmill, passionately handling ingredients to cook up a lunch, talking with family about what's bothering me, running to the magazine store to      pick up reading material to distract the mind. To no avail.

Late in the afternoon, I decided to head to LaFontaine park to surround myself with LIFE.
It's not that life isn't present at home, or at a store, or watching one's kids at play ( in my case, the boys are with their dad for a week).
Parks are usually the best place to witness LIFE, people living.

I found myself watching the skaters, children with their toboggans, elderly couples strolling, families enjoying the brisk air.

Life was in motion at park LaFontaine.

I was not seeing busy-ness, rather I was witnessing pleasure seekers.

Then I thought of my father...

My 69 year old father is not in great shape.

Since last March 2010, he has been in and out of a hospital as my children, my mother, my sister and I, all watch different parts of his body fail him. It's not easy.

Most certainly, it's not easy for HIM.

A little about him...

Growing up, I watched him be a pillar of strength in our household.

He showed me the meaning of resilience, the benefits of hard work, determination, aiming high, striving to be the best that one can be.

All good things, indeed.

As a child I watched his inter-personal skills closely.

He never needed to repeat himself twice.

He commanded respect.

He stood tall, his eyes meant business and one quickly knew his intention without an exchange of words.
I grew up feeling cared for, safe, and knowing my actions mattered.

My father today, this very second, is experiencing his very own Existential Crisis.

Makes sense when one sees one's body begin to slow down, not heal as quickly or not at ALL.

He is questioning his life, looking back at his decisions, perhaps regretting some actions...

Though he led his childhood, young adulthood and adult life with a vision for his family's future, he did little to nurture and protect his health. He was a chain smoker from adolescence, ate whatever he enjoyed, never exercised, stressed out most of his life and ignored all of his doctors' recommendations.
His solution to ailments was taking his prescribed medication to alter or remedy what was not going well.
His family history is of concern, as heart disease and strokes are prevalent.
In essence, he abused his body.
And...he did so with an invincible attitude.

Sitting in the hospital yesterday at noon, I noticed he is NOT feeling so invincible.

He looks scared.

His body looks weak.

He looks needy.

He seeks attention.

He wants someone to tell him that all will be well.

His reality...his kidneys are failing him, his circulation is poor, his lungs are weak.

He can barely walk, as his feet have swollen.
He has stomach cramps which hold him back from eating.
He feels weak, as a result.

His lungs experienced a mild case of pneumonia this past weekend.

Will he still smoke?

Most likely...

I am angry with him.

I am angry with him because I have seen the better part of his life having a "fuck you" attitude about his health choices.

Why is he NOW experiencing all this sadness, remorse and fear?

In this last chapter of his life, whether 25 years from now or next year (I don't wish him a short life. I desperately WANT him to live a long long life) why is he not FINISHING STRONG like he always has?

WHY?

I don't know how to handle this scared version of my dad...

Is Oral sex, SEX?? Ask your teens and see what they say?

I am at a dinner party at a friend's house.
What happens when you put four women in their forties, around a kitchen table, with great food and a bottle (or two?) of wine?
The answer?
You get free flowing conversations about this, that and the other.

I am here to talk about the "THAT" portion of the conversation. The THAT was namely about how oral sex is rampant in early adolescence.

So what???

Well, it sort of sounds dandy except for the fact that the young boys are getting the blow jobs and the young ladies are more than happy to perform and get nothing in return.

Which brings us to "What are we teaching our kids?"

Back to this delightful kitchen table, we were all mothers. I would go as far as to say, all well educated mothers.
Some of us have children below the age of 10, while others have adolescent off springs.

The conversation became enlightening when I had mentioned that a few years back, my son's elementary school had invited a special guest, a social worker, to talk to would be parents of adolescents.

The guest speaker began her informative session by addressing a Jewish crowd with the following question: "At what age do you think your child begins to have sexual relations?"

In response, the crowd had muttered all sorts of answers from 15 to 18.
The social worker went on to ask: "And where do you think this happens?"

Long story short, she informed this naive parent body (myself included) that the day your son has his Bar Mitzvah, he will most likely have his first blow job in a bathroom stall or worse yet at coat check at his party. The parents roar.
What a rude awakening!

She went on to say how there seems to be a pervasive understanding that oral sex is not SEX.

(Gee I wonder who we need to thank? William was his name I think? White House? Oral oops I meant OVAL office?)

Furthermore, she explained something else of greater concern.

Girls are ONLY performing and guys are NOT reciprocating.

I once had a chat with a well known psychologist in Montreal about this same topic.

His answer was that the sexual culture is changing amongst the young.

Oral intimacy is not sex.

Young women feel that they are "still good" if they don't let the boy get sexually close to them.

The cherry on top of the icing: The girls feel empowered by performing and not allowing boys to reciprocate.

I will let you simmer with that last thought, dear reader...

The social worker went on to say that in high schools, teens were partaking in themed parties.
Back then (light sarcasm here, as my information dates back to four years ago...themes may have changed since). One example was the Rainbow party which meant that the young ladies would arrive with a bright shade of lipstick and the young adolescent was meant to collect shades of all lipsticks on his appendage. The boy with the most rainbow rings was the person who ruled the coop.

Now back again to that round table chat with ladies and WINE.
These mommies were blown away by the "news", were appalled at what conversations were taking place at home between parent and child. My guess, most likely, parents DO NOT have this chat about oral sex with their children. In fact, I would venture to say parents don't chew the fat about sex with their kids. They may highlight or create "NO FLY ZONE" policies and not allow for free flowing chats about sexual intimacy, respecting one's body, deriving pleasure etc...

One vibrant, very open minded and outspoken woman ( and more women should be like her!!!!) around that same kitchen table did say " Where is the power in having some guy's penis in your mouth? The true power is in one's ORGASM!!!!!"
We all burst out laughing.
She is indeed right, on so many levels (physically-pleasure and safety, emotionally-trust and self-concept).



So purpose of this blog, other than initial shock value is the following:

Firstly, at your son's Bar Mitzvah, do like I did. Hire extra male WATCHDOGS to scout the party, the bathrooms, the coat check at regular intervals of time. In my case, our party ran smoothly other than a group of boys amusing themselves with the condom dispenser in that bathroom.
Oy, my son will be mortified, if he gets wind of Mama's most recent entry. lol

Secondly, talk to your children.
Have a no holds bar attitude about difficult topics.
Listen to them, don't judge them when they share something that makes you uneasy.
This will allow them to loosen their filters with you and share openly.
Friends close to This Princess are always surprised at topics my children bring to the table. Better you, the parent, be handling the flow of information, than having some misguided PEER inform your child.

And ultimately, remember that once hormones kick in, sexuality and discovery of one's sexuality are normal and healthy.
Would love to hear your thoughts on this blog entry.
Please share, any which way you prefer.
Dialogue is KEY!

What is UP with dating in 2010!?!!?

This Princess wants to meet someone.

She wants to meet her very own FROG.

He does not have to be PERFECT.

Is it too much to ask for a gentleman, with integrity who holds down a REAL JOB? Never mind bigger issues like his extended family, his neurosis, his religion, his X-wife or his MOTHER.

This Princess wants companionship.

She wants intellectually charged exchanges.

To make matters worse, this princess has issues of her own which make it difficult to meet and mingle.

Imagine?

She works out of her home.
She is a single mother with full custody of two boys.
She is not in the habit of hanging at bars...although, the local SAQ (aka liquor store) is another kettle of fish!

So what is a Princess to do in 2010?
She can NAG her friends to death to set her up. Futile approach, thus far.
Or she can take matters into her own hands, by getting online, on sites such as Match.com, eHarmony, Plenty Of Fish, Jdate, OkCupid etc...
Some of these sites are free, while others are membership based.

Talking to a few friends here and there, and reflecting on the last batch of candidates, the consensus was that a paid site would bring a higher calibre of people, who are serious, employed ( yes, believe it or not, it's harder than you think to find a gainfully employed man) and searching for a commitment.

Oh no!!! Did I just use the "C" word????

Well, Match.com is like Malaria.com.
Single folks go there to DIE! Nothing moved on that site, in Canada, that is.
I did meet two friends on Match...but they both happen to live in the great U.S of A.

Jdate.com is like playing musical chairs in my backyard.

It just feels WRONG.

Perhaps the fact that I have worked for the Jewish community for close to 19 years and seen throngs of once happy, married people, now  with mug shots on Jdate stating their recent divorced status...makes it somewhat unappealing. The community is so small and tight, I may run the risk of dating some Jewish man, and his X-wife might be my neighboor or his child, my student.

Who needs that???
No, seriously?

eHarmony has the best advertising around. eHarmony is unique in that the matching service doesn't promote the "hook-up" culture. According to the company's mission statement, their goal is to "help couples achieve stronger, healthier and happier marriages."
They offer psychological tests to brand you as a Type A or B personality.

Well, it's been two months I have been on that lovely site.
Apparently, according to their data, I am well suited for a HUNKY firefighter who wants to be my Oral Slave, run my errands and scrub my bathroom floors NAKED while I berate him fully clothed.
And if that's not bad enough, he wants  me to keep looking for an alternate lover, as he candidly shared that he has sexual limitations.

Furthermore, if I was really KIND, I would allow him to remain in my closet, NAKED, while he eavesdrops on me with another man.
...And to think I have 10 more pre-paid months of this quality membership to look forward to...SIGH.

.

..So it appears Plenty of Fish is looking not too shabby.

The pond hosts the same paying crowd from all those other paying sites (yes the Firefighter is here too!) to a series of married men, parading as single fuckers.
This pond is your OYSTER!
It hosts a series of images, most often shirtless images.
FYI my dear SINGLE dude, women like the concept of shirt on, as it leaves something to our imagination!!
Anything swims in this pond.
It should have a warning sign saying "Swimmers, Beware"!

So here I am, Caspian Princess, posting her profile giving a glimpse of who I am.
I did mention my passion with ingredients and kitchen gadgets, my love for nature etc...
Most weeks, I receive a dozen NEW emails from Happy Fishies who say the following to woe this Princess:

"You're cute. Wanna fuck?" or "I live in NDG, is that near you for a quickie?" or "Hey, wasss ur fav position?"

And once I was really lucky, the Happy FISH READ MY PROFILE and said the following:

"How about you invite me over, COOK for me ( a tiny reference to my profile. Oh joy! Oh bliss!) and then we can fuck".
This one was a class act, indeed.

I know weirdos exist in all walks of life.
I know not everyone can run spell check on their sentence, prior to pressing "SEND".
It takes effort.
Who has time for that?
Better to look like an iliterate.
I also know that I am a modern woman, which means that I can make the bold move to reach out to a suitable candidate. As sarcastic as that may have sounded, I am a wee bit traditional in nature. My Caspian heritage kicks in every now and then...

That being said, would you believe it if I told you that many of my emails get deleted prior to having been READ!
What ever happened to courtesy and being a gentleman?

So...
I think that MEN have forgotten the ART of dating.

I think that MEN should drop their fancy mobile devices and or any type of electronic gadget and perhaps walk over to their local bookstore and pick up a much needed self-help book on how to converse with the opposite sex.
I am sure they have a kindle version too!!!

Listen, read and INHALE the advice.

It sure beats whatever it is you think you are doing.

As for THIS Princess, clearly the online venue is not a match made in heaven.

Perhaps, this Princess needs to head to some castle far far away and mingle with some royalty who have yet to swim in a cesspool!

That or... becoming a NUN.
Call me Sister Caspian!


Could I be THIS lucky in a convent?? Or is this really my firefighter dressed like a priest?

Throwing It All Away!!

The “GET”.
I got it.
Get it?
The Jewish GET!!

For those of you who are non-tribesmen (from the Cohen, Levy or Israelites tribes),it's a Jewish divorce. It's a process whereby a lovely lady, once known as a THE BRIDE, needs to request her DISMISSAL papers, in hope of finding something better out there.

The document specifies, in Hebrew, that the man, aka THE HUSBAND, will "now release, discharge and divorce the bride (on her own) so that she is PERMITTED and has authority over herself to go and marry any man she desires. ( Any man,with the exception of a Cohen gentleman…apparently I am too tarnished for a fine Cohen man. Makes me think, what should my JDATE profile state, NO COHENS allowed?)

It goes on to say that “No person may object against the NOW DIVORCED BRIDE from this day onward and she is PERMITTED (my favorite wording, if you have not already guessed) to every man." The kicker is the last line spoken by the now X-Husband stating "this shall be for YOU from me a BILL OF DISMISSAL, a letter of RELEASE and a document of ABSOLUTION, in accordance with the law of Moses and Israel."

...Moment of silence, please.
I mean, let's face there is so much to digest in this HERE document.
Where does one begin?

I am a Jewess.
That is obvious.
I am part feminist.
Conundrum indeed!

You see religion and women are a funny combo. When the woman stands on the right side of the equation, she is viewed as God’s reflection to her beloved. My face mirrors my husband’s being. Once I cross over to the DARK side, I become “the invisible woman”.

As a woman, I enter a boardroom with six religious figures, Mad Hatters I like to name them, and my x-husband. Well technically, he is not an X yet. He becomes an X when I leave the premises. How amusing. In any event,they assign me to a seat at the tail end of a U shaped boardroom table. They assume, my X and I need a chair in between us. Clearly, they have never met THE outspoken Caspian Princess. I quickly inform them that I would feel more comfortable nestled next to him then tossed by the way side, near the exit. One witness smirks. Funny thing is they still insisted that WE not approach the Mad Hatters. Should there have been acrimony, the X was privy to sitting more closely to the religious beings.

They spend the better part of the next 35 minutes, directing conversation to my X, asking his name, his Hebrew name and his nicknames. I find myself, quietly, watching the exchanges between the Mad Hatters, as they try to figure out the nuances in the letter “A” of my X-Husband. I keep thinking what is this world coming to, for six, mature, religious beings to spend an insane amount of time trying to philosophize if the letter “A” in his name is a short vowel or a long vowel.

The six religious men, then proceed to ask me my name and its spelling. Never mind, that they stumbled on my father’s name. Two Rabbis duel over the meaning of the name. One Rabbi finally states “you know like the King of Persia, Esther and Mordechai, the tombs in Iran…etc, etc. Ya, I think that's Judaism 101, where the holiday Purim began. But I digress.

My thoughts, once again, “OY”.

We are gently asked to step outside, while the scribe writes out our dismissal contracts. After an hour, we are called back inside, where I stand before my two witnesses and the Rabbi and my soon to be X-Husband. I am asked to pull up my sleeves, cup my hands, not to shake or move, while my soon to be X-Hubby sings his praises to me.

Well, praises is an understatement!! The words are VILE. The words are hurtful. The words have a way to DISMISS a 14 year commitment. The words make you wonder how these same religious beings feel that I AM CAPABLE of raising my two sons. The words HURT. Have you heard of The Gazette's new marketing stance "Words FUCKING MATTER?"

The Rabbi then instructs me to raise the contract in the air, stick it under my armpit, walk out of the room, pass a door or two in the hallway, then re-enter the boardroom as a DIVORCED woman. Sweet.

Congratulate me, I am now divorced. A relative blackberry messengered me soon after, saying “is it wrong to wish you a Mazal Tov?”
I don’t know, what do you think?


I dedicate this song to a great X-Husband. We share two beautiful kids. We care about each other's well being. Imagine that?