I am finally in the mood to write a blog – a blog different from all those I’ve done so far – The Third Hole (my third novel) is now in the hands of the publisher – it will be launched in April – I have told you all about it – so what should I write about now?
I started my blogging career last September by writing about my once upon a time political world of games and betrayals, my ineptness in the social media world, TIFF and its refusal to make a one day adjustment to its schedule out of respect for the importance of Yom Kippur to members of the Jewish community, (much more on that story will be coming) and an assortment of reflections about sex, men, friends and good food.
And then I ran out of ideas. After a week had passed, the genius suggested that I had better get back to my blogs.
“I can’t think of anything to write about” I whined.
“Well,” he snapped, “every time you write a blog, your audience/likes/interest climbs dramatically. And if you have a book coming out in a couple of months, you need to make sure that there are lots of people who are interested in reading it.”
Okay, he was right. So I had to think of something. Then, ten days ago, I knocked out my back …again. It has been four years since the last big attack. For those of you who have been there, you know what it is all about. For the rest of you, back attacks begin with a shooting spasm of pain along the lower back, similar to having your tooth drilled without freezing, only the pain never stops. Immediate relief? There is none. But I am an old hand at this – flat on my back at first with a freeze bag – Aleve, Tylenol and then… it didn’t work.
I already know that I am too fat – one of the worst realities when one has a bad back. So I am now on a diet. You remember those 20 pounds I was told to lose before there I do any publicity for The Third Hole? Well this is it. Could this be fate? A warning from some spiritual force?
Anyhow, my husband Jerry good naturedly and with some physical effort, helps me into the car and drives me to the doctor. Luckily Dr. Lofsky is there, gives me a prescription and off we go – and then I stumble back into my bedroom with my ice pack. In half an hour, relief begins. Whew.
But wait! It is Shabbos tomorrow– all my kids and grandkiddies come for Friday dinner. My husband says that it is the cleaning up after fourteen people every week that is killing my back – I am too old to do it. Nice – thanks.
So dinner is cancelled – kids are ticked – oh they say “hope you feel better soon Mom”, but they don’t mean it. And I feel guilty. Now I can think of lots of yummy things it would be more fun to feel guilty about – but not feeding adult children? Maybe it is just genetic for every Jewish mother to feel guilty about stupid things. Oh well.
And then…. the weekend arrives. And guess who is coming to visit their Bubbie? Yes, those angels, those geniuses, those gorgeous hunks. And I need to share them with you in this blog so that in twenty years, when they are researching the life and times of their Bubbie Patti, they will see how I spoke of them before they became rich and famous.
I am sitting on a straight backed chair, my ice pack in the small my back, two small pillows lodged in either side to hold me upright and rigid.
The first two angels arrive. Jona, the superb – gorgeous, so juicy, so cuddly and so precious as she runs over to give her “sick” Bubbie a hug – she puts her head in my lap and offers me her Elmo to hold – Jona is two and a half years old. Plunked down right in front of me is her sister, eight month old Leora – also gorgeous – not so juicy – but with a golden smile as she emits squeaky sounds. My son Randy, the musician, lifts her up in her chair and I get a few kisses. Very nice. So far, no extra pain.
Then two more arrive – twelve year old Jacob, a definite whiz kid – with a business sense and incredible computer skills who is so handsome people stare at him – and his fabulous eleven year old sister, Rachel who loves gymnastics – and who makes the best coffee from those ridiculous machines where each cup comes in a small container.
Then in walks my king – first grandchild – fifteen year old Max Dakota – a hunk to end all hunks – sensitive, kind and oh so personable.
“Poor Bubbie”, he coos as he gives me a hug. “What can I do to make you feel better?” Oh, those words are enough. His thirteen year old sister, the magnificent Zoe, does two or three flips for all of us to admire. She is a competitive gymnast and has the look of a champion. And of course, the last shall be the first – Koby Gershie – who is also gorgeous and quite intellectual – verbal sparrings with Koby are always challenging. Of course, he doesn’t ask me how I am feeling – he gives me a nod and a wave of his hand –then immediately goes to the secret cupboard to get the donuts I hide for him every week. His mother Debra, who is also a criminal lawyer, doesn’t want him to have sweets but hey, I’m the Bubbie, and that’s what Bubbie’s do. Right? Of course right!
And then, luckily, I make it through to Sunday. My special Tracey had invited us to her house for brunch. No work to do – just crawl up the stairs and park myself in a high back chair with a special seat – Tracey has back problems too – her gorgeous twins, James and Gabrielle, are just over seven years old, and designated for the gifted program in their school. So from them I get written words of encouragement, along with drawings and of course, hugs and kisses. And it is really so nice to just sit there with them and be waited on.
Hey, other kids! Do you get the hint?
So here I am –doing my blog -feeling a bit better but being very careful. Absolutely no garbage being eaten – played bridge with my friend Bertye Jill earlier today – she drives me home without complaint – we had lots of fun.
And next time you see me, feel free to comment on my weight loss. After all, ten days of no chocolate, no cookies, no ice cream, no cashews and no apple cinnamon cake should be noticeable – right?
I hope.
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