All posts by Jacqueline Markowitz

Apples and Honey and Bathurst Street

Just Posted, Muse

I was standing in line to pay for my groceries and overheard the woman ahead of me ask the cashier to put some items in a separate bag because they were for her mother. I used to do that too.

It has been five years since my mother passed away. The missing her surfaces in the little moments of day-to-day life. Like buying a Greek salad at United Bakery. That and their potato soup was one of her favourite lunches. Or, passing by Neptune Drive and glancing up to her fourth floor apartment. I can still see her sitting in her special chair, wearing her pink sweater, waiting for me, or my sister to come by, and looking out the window at the stained glass windows of the synagogue.

Bathurst Street is a smorgasbord of traditions this time of year all diverging on several blocks from  Lawrence Plaza to Baycrest creating a vibrant mosaic. Men in black hats with long beards with their quickened pace and an increased sense of purpose. Students sharing pizzas and falafels for lunch at Tov Li. The elderly with walkers shuffling along the sidewalks. Mini vans and sedans vying for parking spots at Hartmans and along Deloraine. Shofars decorating the gift shop windows. Bakeries making crown shaped Challas and apple cakes, the rush to order chicken, brisket and Gifilte fish, and jars of bright gold honey. She loved it. Maybe it was a small town attitude that reminded her of her life in England, and feeling part of the community.

There was a storybook that she read to me, The Mystery of the Missing Challa. I loved it, still do, about a little girl, Bayla who helped her mother get ready for Shabbat, polishing the silver, visiting the baker, the butcher, the toy shop, the shoe shop, the fish market. As a child she would hold my hand as we went to do our holiday shopping, and visit Lolas for her shoes, and Daiters for delicious thin slices of Munchee cheese, blintzes, and a pound of creamed cottage wrapped in cheesecloth. The old man behind the counter at Strolli’s would give us a beef or potato kinish. It is these small details that bring back such sweet and savory memories. They are the things that make me hold my breath to keep back the tears. Later, I would hold her hand.

I miss her in these small moments. It is when I light her Candelabra on Friday nights and feel the presence of her hands over mine as I say the blessing. It is when one of her funny little phrases pops into my head, or I catch myself saying something that only my mother would have said. It is when one of my children reminisces about Grandma. I smile. She was always there for me. Taking my hand, showing me the way. Somehow, she still is.

I always make lunch for our family at Rosh Hashanah. I will make her apple cake. I will bring out her special dishes. And, I’ll do my rounds on Bathurst Street, and she will be in my heart and I will miss her.

Wishing you a Shana Tova. A happy, healthy and joyful New Year, and a time of peace in our world.

Our Greatest Teachers

Just Posted, Muse

The other day I was flipping through the channels and came upon the movie To Sir with Love, and ended up curled up on the couch watching this old classic with Sidney Poitier. This film must have been the first in its genre; the classroom with challenging kids transformed by a gifted teacher.

Our greatest teachers are those from whom we learn more than the curriculum. Bill Clinton says that one of the most influential people in his life was the band director, Virgil M. Spurlin at the Hot Springs High School. Apparently their relationship was the inspiration for him to go in to politics. Spurlin made him feel that he could accomplish anything, organize and effect change. For Oprah Winfrey it was her teacher, Mary Duncan who recognized something special in the insecure fourth grade student, and encouraged Oprah to read out loud for the class to gain confidence. Maya Angelou’s neighbour and teacher, Mrs. Flowers, took her to the library and told her to read every book within the small room. Here, she discovered her love of poetry. Mrs. Flowers had her come to her house and read poetry aloud.

I can draw upon pieces of my education from primary school all the way through university and my continuing studies now, and there will be moments, phrases, ideas and lines that resonate, pierce or make everything fall in to place. Who are our greatest teachers? Perhaps it is those who help us find our purpose, from which we learn the lessons of forgiveness, or discover the parts of ourselves that can soar. It could be an author who connects the dots of understanding, fear or passion. There are those who make us believe. It is the brush stroke of an artist, and how the play of light provokes sadness or love. It is often our children who by their own extraordinary, or commonplace actions make us stand back in amazement, recognition, astonishment or delight.   I think our greatest teachers are those who reach us in a small, intricate way, sometimes serendipitous, and with whom we are able to experience a feeling unlike anything we have before.

Who are your greatest teachers?

Don’t Worry George Clooney

Just Posted, Muse

Is the Trivago guy really the new object of affection for middle-aged women? What happened to the Marlboro Man? Has that rugged, sexy, smoking icon has been replaced by, (musical cue – bom, bom, bom) the Trivago guy?

As an advertising campaign it’s clearly working! Maybe not the stats of Marlboro where Leo Burnett turned a filtered cigarette with a feminine psyche into a testosterone buzz in just a few months; but I can’t seem to turn on the TV without seeing the ‘Trivago guy’. He’s become an Internet fuss, has been featured in Rolling Stone, and Sarah Hampson in the Globe and Mail gave up a quarter page to discus whether or not he is being objectified. There is now a contest to determine his new wardrobe, and women are weighing in. What am I missing?

Well, I guess there is ‘something’ about him. Polar opposite to those cowboys! He’s the soft-spoken, rumpled guy who constantly needs his shirt tucked in. There has been lots of talk that he needs a belt! Really? He’s just that guy. I guess he does have that ilk of boyish charm that is totally appealing as long as you’re not married to him.

Maybe it’s the summer. Maybe it’s likened to a beach read. Okay, I admit, I watched The Bachelorette.

Am I a victim of pop culture? Yes, I suppose I am!  It’s the flip side of my coin. On one side I am swept away by literary fiction, captivated by the banter of indie films, and enlightened to spirituality; and on the other lured by a great leading man, a latte, and the ‘who wore it best’ column of In Style magazine.

Truth is, it took me years to find my inner coffee at Starbucks, the ‘grande low fat decaf latte’. And, now that I have given up coffee (and gluten… I am so on trend…), mint tea has become my staple at any coffee shop. I must say that I still prefer tea at a cozy, busy, coffee shop to a trendy tea café. Why is that? Well, even though I haven’t had coffee since February, I still dream of it, and love the aroma. There are just so many great scenes that play out at a coffee shop. It’s the essential movie moment in our voyeur lives, a kind of Meg Ryan minute, with that cute, covert smugness, if you know what I mean. I’m definitely a RomCom kind of girl.

But the Trivago guy….really? Don’t worry George Clooney.

Life Lives

Just Posted, Life Is

“You will have bad times, but they will always wake you up to the stuff you weren’t paying attention to.” Robin Williams

It’s early morning. I’m writing from my favourite spot. My kitchen table which is surrounded by windows on three sides, and I feel as if I am in a tree house. It’s a dark morning. It’s not raining anymore, but the wind sends a bustle through the trees, their leaves shake and sashay, and the rainwater falls from them. It feels like summer is winding down. Robin Williams passed away this week.

It’s difficult to imagine his struggles with addiction and depression living in the same person as his brilliant cathartic comedy, and deeply absorbing dramatic roles. The three sides of Robin must have all been vying for his attention at the same time. And in that one desperate moment where the demons over shadowed the other parts, they swallowed him up. It’s so very sad, and really hard to wrap our heads around his pain, his choice, and this ending.

It makes me think about how we know people. For the most part we don’t really know what lies beneath the surface of even those we are close with. There are parts of our lives that we keep well tucked away. Maybe because they scare us, or we are fearful of the scrutiny, feel trapped, or perhaps it’s that we can’t fathom a way out. The heartache is that his choice was made in the devastation of a single moment. That is what is so hard I think for us to reconcile.

The news of Robin Williams has triggered me to reflect about how we get through the dark times in our life. The past five years have been wrought with a number of challenges for me. At first I was scared to let my friends and family know what was going on in my life. Scared they would think different of me. So many scenarios played out in my mind. I took the risk and shared my story with those people who were closest to me, and my gift has been deeper, more caring, and real relationships. And, opening up has allowed me to connect with myself, feel empowered and move forward. I have learned so much, and have so much more now to give.

Not to be cliché, but as I am writing the sun is trying to come out, and for a brief moment I feel the rays bring some welcome warmth. And, I guess that is my answer.  That’s about as concise and simple as it gets. Life lives. And, if we can get through the moment, there is the hope that possibility lies around the corner.

Beautiful

Muse

I have never really considered myself as beautiful. I knew I was pretty, had a kind of confidence that goes along with that, I like fashion, at least my hippie-esque brand of it that seems to have followed me along the years. Once, we were at a restaurant for one of my daughter’s birthdays with my mother-in-law and she told me I should cut my hair, that I looked like an old hippie. Hmmmph. I took it personally, and channeled early Kate Moss.

For the most part though, I never really put too much attention on myself or considered my beauty. That is, until now. I do like my hair blonde and long-ish. I like my green eyes, but think that wearing eye make-up at my age makes my eyes look older, so I have adapted a less is more attitude to make-up in general, splashing on a little on occasions. I am crazy though about cleansing and using natural products, believing what goes on my skin goes in my body. I admit to looking in the mirror lately and pulling back the skin and seeing how it brightens my face, but do I want distorted lips. I really can’t afford Botox, nor do I like needles or pain, or the thought someone cutting the skin off my face for a lift and tuck. I mean, this is a woman who had three natural childbirths because she was scared of the epidural…  But, I am more and more conscious of how I look, and how I want to look, and that I want to feel beautiful.

I am now more aware of myself. Maybe because I can’t believe that I am crazy close to sixty! And the reconciliation of how I feel inside and the reflection in the mirror are somewhat hazy. I had a very weird experience when I went to see the James Taylor concert.  I looked around me and exclaimed to my daughter, everyone is so old here. And she replied, well Mom you are going to be sixty in a few years. It was a shocking. Honestly until that moment I had never really considered that I looked, well middle aged!  I was just one in a sea of the over fifty set. Really, what was I expecting, he’s an old man, yet still playing his guitar, still writing music and still having a blast on stage. I got the impression though, that he was acutely aware of the passage of his time, but immensely grateful for this audience, and our well travelled roads. Or, maybe that was just how he made me feel.

I have beautiful friends, seriously. If this is aging then bring it on! We have grown in to ourselves, know who we are, what we like, how to live, we are more open, honest, better friends, and compassionate. Life’s trails have brought us wisdoms that seem to infuse with the layers of our skin, and emanate a simmering, sultry kind of beauty. The kind of beauty that has a presence if you know what I mean.

Pondering beauty comes with questions. What does it mean to age gracefully? How do we see ourselves and how do others see us? I think these days in general I take more consideration in how I look, but am also so much more conscious of how I think. Does beauty come from within? I truly believe it does. Our skin is a shell, our body just our shape; it’s how we are packaged. The Beatles wrote, “How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people? Now that you know who you are, what do you want to be?” That is the gift of our age and our beauty. We get to decide.

Crinolines and Peace Pins

Just Posted, Uncategorized

Mid July. Another overcast, breezy day in Toronto perched on the verge of rain. I needed to get out of my house. Feeling restless. Maybe it’s the day. The news. Maybe it’s the melancholy that seems to follow me like a persistent shadow in the past few days.

My daughter, sensing my mood suggested that we get out of the house, and go downtown, hang out in a coffee shop and write. Good plan. I am sitting in Kensington Market writing this blog post. I wanted to photograph the crinolines on Kensington Street that hang on lines across stores that are throw backs to a time when I would come down and hang out with my friends and buy peace pins, beads and bell bottom jeans. I have a thing for crinolines. I like their whimsy. When I said ‘crinolines’ she replied with ‘peace pins’. Perfect. She gets me.

Some things do remain the same. I guess I’m still the same girl at heart. Peace and love. The shops are still the same. Their wares haven’t changed. Even people-watching is pretty similar. Aged hippies. Young people wearing the woven sacks over their shoulders, that used to carry pen and note book, and now cart I-pads and MacBooks. Girls with nose piercings, high-waisted shorts, crop tops. Now with I-phones, taking ‘selfies’ with peace fingers. Well then…  And in the background the painted brick row houses, faded green and, brown and burgundy shingled roofs, bamboo blinds. This is not a street that has been replaced. The seeds of the sixties have strong roots here, and the passersby seem to adapt their stride.

Perhaps I needed to retreat to a less complicated world for a moment. A time when we believed that our voices served as a mantra for peace. The world is a mess. The sadness has settled in my bones.

This little excursion has restored my equilibrium for the moment. A little Moroccan Mint tea, a slice of Halava from the Cheese shop, and a weathered bench at an outdoor café. Breaking away from the tangent of unrest that is swirling within.

Across the street a silk halter dress, pink, with flecks of made in India gold is blowing in the wind. I hear tambourine, guitar, and wind chimes wafting across the air. Some voices that are too loud, “nice, nice, yeah, yeah” merging on top of each other. Snippets of irrelevant conversation like a reprise.  I can almost smell incense. The sun in breaking through the clouds. Crinolines and peace pins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet Dreams and Blues

Just Posted, Muse, Uncategorized

I was seventeen lying on the grass outside our basement window looking up at the sky and watching the clouds. Led Zeppelin was filtering through the screen from the record player turned up as loud as possible. In a little while I would be leaving for the airport to visit my family in England for the summer. I was struggling with lots of emotions. Leaving my Mom, my friends, traveling to see people I had never met before; a teenage tangle of anticipation and uncertainty. I can feel that moment as soon as I hear, Jimmy Page’s iconic guitar and Robert Plant sing, “There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven…”

I can remember moments in my life because of the association with a song that I loved. I think we all can. Music is a powerful elixir. It strums along with loves, woes and dreams. I catch a feeling in my heart even in the opening bars of songs and just that much can drop me in a time or place.

If there was a soundtrack to my life, here are but a few of the tunes that would be featured.

You’ve got a Friend; by Carole King; the perfect antidote to the bumps along the way.   The opening notes of California played on the Dulcimer by Joni Mitchell resound within me. There is a kind of happiness with a twinge of melancholy that is the joy and heartbreak of her songs.

The Circle Game over the years has become part of my melody. The words renewed with my children. It sang them to sleep, and the markings of childhood to adulthood have a kind of reverence that I’m sure even Joni couldn’t have imagined in the 70’s. “We’re captive on a carousel of time, we can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came and go round and round and round in the circle game…”

John Lennon. “Because the world is round it turns me on….”

Crosby Stills and Nash, the Dejavu album. I bought it at Sam the Record Man at Bayview Village with my Dad. He drove me there in his red Pontiac convertible. Came home and played it over and over again on my green portable record player that sat on the side table in our living room with the blue lamp. If I am on a train, traveling, Simon and Garfunkle’s America becomes part of the syncopated rhythm of the rails as the landscape distances itself in a rush out the window. And, Van Morrison’s Moon Dance, “the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush…”. Well, it’s always in the back pocket of my faded jeans, in the rising of the August moon, and in just holding hands.

This month I’m going to see James Taylor with my daughter. My husband doesn’t get it. He can’t understand why I would want to go to see him playing the guitar and still singing ‘at his age’. It’s not looking back or living in the past. These are the sounds of my life. Me and James and the music, have all gone down the road together. I hope he plays all the songs I love. “Dreaming the dreams I’ve dreamed my friends, loving the love I’ve loved…”

Here is a link to Stairway to Heaven live in Madison Square Gardens New York 1973
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Q7Vr3yQYWQ

And, James Taylor live at BBC studios, 1970
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEcsp9AIQzY

 

 

Beginnings

Just Posted, Life Is, Muse

Last week my daughter was married. It was an enchanting affair, a beautiful dream of a wedding. And she looks so happy.

The foundation of our married lives begins riding a wave of unbridled happiness that then lulls to shore, and takes residence in the soft white sand at the edge of the waters. We live in this euphoria for a moment, then it settles loftily about us, like the white gauzy chuppa (wedding canopy) that danced in the delicate breeze above her head, with the sides left open to all the details of life.

It has led me to think about all the beginnings in our lives, and to reflect on all of mine since my marriage all those years ago. There have been many twists and turns, and journeys in directions I could never have foreseen in the bliss of wedding vows.  As my mother would say, “I have had many lives.”

Our life stories are comprised of a succession of beginnings of one kind or another, bobbing and weaving and charting territories yet unknown.  Beginnings come like punctuations, fly off the page in a torrent of hesitations and excitements and settle into complex protagonists, as the pages turn.

Her story is about to unfold. She is embarking on her life as another woman. She will see things I cannot see, vision her life in ways that I can’t know. She will remain stitched into my life so intrinsically that I will feel all her joys and pain, and at the same time she will unbutton her coat from my front hall closet and step away to her life. This is the multi-layered beginning of our journey as mother and daughter after the wedding. It’s a waltz now, you see. There are so many beginnings.

Grad Parents

Just Posted, Life Is

Last week our youngest daughter graduated from university. It was a milestone. It seems that I am in a year of milestones, or a touching down on some stepping-stones that over the course of our lifetime traverse an array of terrains. We only see the steps as we encounter them. They leave a trail of joys and sorrows and the curve of their destination is yet unknown to us.

This year has seen big birthdays, and graduations, one daughter moved out, one is to be married, and one back home for a moment. We are sort of empty nesters. And these significant moments, these times of celebration, completions and beginnings are caught in my chest with tears of happiness, gratitude and memories of our parents, especially my mother. We lost my dad when I was young and she put me through university and made me a wedding. We had so little, and she did so much for me, and it was her joy. How they all would have loved to share these moments with us. How blessed we are that they guided us to our path. We feel a sense of accomplishment in being able to provide for our children, and delight when they reach goals, and that echoes our parents, and their quests for our journeys as well.

My sister had a favourite rhyme; one that as a child I remember her inscribing in my little blue autograph book. It has stuck with me. “The future lies before us just like a path of snow, be careful how you tread on it for every step shall show.”

I am fulfilled with my life, my friends, my family and I am thankful each day for all that I have. Graduations remind us of this feeling, a sense where we have come from, and what lies before us, a sense of continuance from generation to generation, and the unbelievable expanse that lay ahead for hopes and dreams. “Graduation is only a concept. In real life every day you graduate. Graduation is a process that goes on until the last day of your life. If you can grasp that, you’ll make a difference.” Arie Pencovici

Sixty is Nifty…or Something Like That.

Just Posted, Life Is, Muse

This week my husband celebrated his sixtieth birthday. It was a big day for me! Astounding and humbling, to tell you the truth. I have known this man for most of my adult life. I had one of those, ‘where have all the years gone’ moments. We certainly have much to be grateful for in our lives. But, wow, fast forward in the life lane. The years they do fly by; all the adages hold true.

My birthday wish for him was that we could truly enjoy the next decade together. Take it for us, to explore, experience and live fully; If not now, when, certainly chimes with resounding certainty as well.

I gave him 6 quotes to embrace, and one for good luck, representing his six decades and the one to come. They are not my words, they are a selection of Oprah’s on the occasion of her 60th, and I like them all.

1. I don’t believe in accidents. I know for sure that everything in life happens to help us live.
2. Be thankful for what you have; you’ll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don’t have, you will never, have enough.
3. Surround yourself with only people who are going to lift you higher.
4. The greatest discovery of all time is that a person can change his future by merely changing his attitude.
5. The thing you fear most has no power. Your fear of it is what has the power. Facing the truth really will set you free.
6. Follow your instincts. That’s where true wisdom manifests itself.
7. Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you have for sure.

An ahhhaaa moment. Yes, actually. Don’t wait. Live life now and enjoy every single moment. I want to wake up each morning and say thank you for this beautiful day.