The Sky is Falling, or Why Does it All Hurt So Bad?

"The sky is falling, the sky is falling," said Chaviva. Move over Chicken Little, this mama is struggling.

For two weeks we had Mr. T's son iBoy with us in Denver. It was amazing. Although I spent the bulk of that time guilty that I wasn't actively in the office working because of all of the ups and downs of being back in the U.S., we had an amazing time traversing Colorado. I saved up all the places I wanted to take Mr. T until iBoy was here. We went to the Celestial Seasonings tea factory (alas, no babies allowed, so I got hopped up on tea in the tasting room), Garden of the Gods, to the Flatirons near Boulder, down to the REI flagship store and rented a kayak and went out on the lake in a thunderstorm ... we did tons of things to keep ourselves entertained, to show iBoy how beautiful it is here, and to make sure, above all, he felt like he was our family, that we love him, that we miss him, and that we want what is best for him in life.

It was a hard thing letting him go on Monday, but these things have to happen (legally, of course). Since then, it's been tough to get him on the phone or Skype, which has been hard on us all. Ash got used to him being around, Mr. T got used to having him around and his entire demeanor changed -- after all, wouldn't yours with both of your sons around you? And me? I got used to seeing Ash light up in a new way, to seeing Mr. T so, so happy, and to having the sound of giggling and snoring and the thump of iBoy running around the apartment and begging to go out and play soccer with his dad.

Last Shabbat we spent ages with iBoy and his dad playing soccer, until it started to rain. Ash and I sat and watched, with Ash mesmerized by this bigger version of himself kicking around a ball and falling all over the grass with his dad.

We felt like a complete unit during those two weeks. So it's a bit heartbreaking as we go back to "normal" without iBoy.

On Tuesday, after dropping iBoy in Omaha, we stopped in to check on my dad, who'd taken the week off from work. Mr. T, playing on a Jewish softball league, wanted to pick up my dad's old bag of softball bats that they had out in their storage unit. I don't think my dad had touched those bats since we left Joplin in 1996. In southern Missouri, baseball reigns supreme. T-ball, little league, adult league softball, it consumes the summertime. My dad played on and coached softball teams throughout my childhood, and he loved the sport. His bats were housed in a green, old Navy bag with his name stamped on the shoulder strap. It's not that military surplus stuff, it's the real deal.

Then, on the way out of the unit, my dad started acting weird. Buckled safely into the car, he wasn't answering questions I asked again and again, and then? Then he seized. His entire body clenched into a giant fist. Asher was in the backseat watching Baby Einstein, Mr. T was in the seat next to him, and I was in the driver's seat, my dad next to me, and I held him and panicked.

In an instant I became a child again. I don't think I've called my father "Daddy" in years. All of a sudden it's the only thing I could say, with a giant question mark at the end of every single utterance of the word. He shook, he clenched, it was like I was watching a TV show or movie. It was textbook. I'd seen it before, but never never in person. I knew they were happening, but I'd never experienced it.

I just held him. I held his head when it flung back. I grabbed the storage unit keys from his hand once his body relaxed. We raced to the hospital, not sure if it was the right one, unable to call my mom thanks to T-Mobile having zero service in Lincoln, Nebraska.

He was out of body the entire drive. For 20 minutes he was gone. His head back, my hand holding it up, it was almost like he was sleeping, snoring. I kept on. "Daddy? Daddy? Are you okay? Daddy?"

We got to the hospital and all of a sudden I was in parent mode. My dad slowly became lucid, but didn't know what happened or where we were or why we were there. He was curled into himself, not sure of himself. I coaxed him out of the car with nurses, took him inside. Gave them his information; they knew him, he'd been there before.

They went through the same motions as always. CT scans, EKGs, vitals, etc. He slowly became lucid and realized what was going on. We were all frustrated, especially after several hours when the ER doctor came in and said everything looked fine; they were sending him home. As usual.

I now understand what he is going through, first hand, after seeing it, and after seeing how the ER doesn't seem to have much to say or do about it all. They offer up the usual: three meals a day, cool and calm environment, low-stress activities, plenty of sleep, take your meds.

For months this has been going on. No one seems to really have a good idea of what's causing the seizures or why. So I found an internist who is going to take on his case. And we're going to hope, pray that something gets figured out.

On that note, maybe Mr. T and I will move to Nebraska and set up a B&B or a little shul for passersby to have a nice, quiet Shabbat. We'd be close to dad, rent would be cheaper, we'd have peace of mind.

Ah emotions. Between family and what's happening in Israel, my head is about to explode. The things of the world that do make sense people don't seem to get (you can't negotiate with terrorists) and the things that should make sense (having seizures, a child and divorced parents) just don't.

HaShem? Let us see you.

The Coffee Break: Pumpkin Spice Latte at Home

Living in the U.S., I was never a super huge fan of Starbucks, mostly because my formative coffee drinking years took place in Nebraska where I frequented a local haunt called The Coffee House (aka Panache), where I'd spend up to eight hours a day studying and doing homework.

When Starbucks showed up, we shunned them.

But after I left Nebraska, Starbucks was an easy find. I discovered what I liked and didn't, and it was usually easy to find a place to sit for hours on end and soak up the free wireless access.

When I moved to Colorado I largely reverted to my local coffee shop hopping, but sometimes the local joints didn't have great wifi, so I was sent packing back to ole reliable where I'd get a Grande Starbucks Doubleshot on Ice (which, at 99 percent of stores, they'll tell you is not an available drink and that there is no button for it, but I know the recipe).

All of that being said, I was never a huge fan of their seasonal drinks, mostly because I'm not a huge fan of sweet and milky drinks.

At The Coffee House I started my adventures off with the sweetest treats they had like the Crunchy Cricket (a blended ice drink with creme de menthe and coffee beans) and their Irish Mocha (which was very milky and very sweet).

But as I progressed through my undergrad and money became more sparse, I realized I couldn't afford those drinks, so I'd buy the cheapest cup of freshly brewed coffee and take advantage of the super cheap refills. I learned to drink my coffee black, and I loved it.

These days, I usually take my iced coffee (קפה קר for those of you in Israel) black and my hot coffee with a bit of sugar and milk, but I'm going to attempt to take myself back to my origins with hot, black coffee.

But with the weather turning a bit and chatter on the web surrounding all things fall and pumpkins, I've been jonesing for a classic Starbucks treat known as the Pumpkin Spice Latte. I've probably had a handful of them in my life, but for some reason, the canned pumpkin in my cabinet was begging me to turn it into a coffee drink.

So I brewed up a strong cup of coffee and got to the pumpkin part.

I took 2 Tbls canned pumpkin, 1 cup milk, and 1 Tbls agave and put them in a pan over medium-high heat and brought to a boil. I mixed in a generous dose of nutmeg, coriander, and cinnamon (in the place of pumpkin pie spice), as well as a teaspoon of vanilla. Once it was well mixed with a whisk, I gave it a very hefty hand whisking to bring in some air bubbles (no frother over here).

I poured the coffee into my mug and poured the pumpkin/milk mixture in over top and mixed.

Then? I devoured. It was hot, spiced, and just the taste of autumn I needed but can't really get here in Israel, unfortunately. It's not exactly a latte, because I don't have a fancy espresso machine with a fancy wand or anything, but it got the job done, and when you're a world away from anything remotely resembling "home" as you once knew it, a fudgin' in a recipe is the best thing to do. (Also, this is much cheaper than the $4.50 I would have paid at an actual Starbucks location.)

What at-home coffee concoctions have you come up with to get that fix? 

School starts soon, and I am so unprepared.

I'm back, part two. (That's me in the Omaha airport on Thursday, nursing a 2-hour delay with $3.99 unlimited day's web access.)

After returning from Israel, I headed home to Nebraska to get some time in with my family -- specifically to see how my father was doing after his first round of chemo at the end of December. The trip out wasn't too bad, we flew out of Newark in the wee hours of the morning on Monday and got to Nebraska with time to do some outlet shopping at some sad, sad outlet malls between Omaha and Lincoln. Our first stop? Runza. The world's greatest fast-food joint. Tuvia loved the place so much, every time we talked about getting another bite to eat, he'd joke about going back to Runza. We spent the next few days driving around town, me showing Tuvia my old haunts (especially the Coffee House, where we went three of the four days we were there), my high school, my favorite places, and cheesy places like the mall to buy me a nice formal dress for an upcoming awards ceremony that was canceled due to the inclement weather last night (but it was beautiful -- well, the weather, that is; I guess the dress is okay, hah). We ate at all my favorite places -- Runza, Bison Witches, Lazlos -- and a few places that I wasn't so fond of. We went book shopping and I discovered that my favorite bookshop -- The Antiquarium -- that used to be down in the Old Market in Omaha is no longer there, trading space for someplace out of town. The old places are turning into new places with condos and lofts popping up all over downtown Omaha and in the Haymarket in Lincoln.

But the most important part of the trip was probably the time spent at home, just sitting with my family. Tuvia managed to spend a good hour stumping my mom, little brother, the little brother's girlfriend, and me with a game called "Petals Around the Rose." I could have killed him, that game is so ridiculous. I got to look at old photos of my mom and dad, and many of my mom when she was just a child. My grandmother, in an effort to clean out the house after my grandfather passed last year, has come up with some real gems. My favorites are probably the ones of the car my mother wrecked -- there are so many of that poor front bumper. But the photos of mom and dad opening gifts, dad in his plaid shirts and overalls (a style he managed well into the early 2000s) are some of the most prized I saw.

Last Tuesday, we took my dad to his doctor's appointments, eventually shuffling him to a hospital across the way for some extra looks into what was making him feel so crappy. We spent nearly four hours with my dad that day. I followed him into the doctor's office, helped ask questions, and took about four pages of notes to share with my mom on his medicines, how he was feeling, his shocking weight loss, and other notable things. He kept apologizing for taking up our time, and I kept reminding him "We're in Lincoln, Nebraska, there isn't that much for us to do, it's okay!" In some way, I have to believe that me being there helped calm him, in some way maybe.

It was more emotionally exhausting than I had planned for, and it didn't really hit me how drained I was until Tuvia and I got back to our little Motel 6 room each night. I just wanted to sleep it all off, prepare myself for another day, and go. Even now, as I sit comfortably in Connecticut staring out the window after a night's snow leftovers, I feel a little tired. I talk to my mom who tells me when dad is having his up days and down days. Some days he's down for some Subway, other days he just feels sick. It's the chemo.

So that was the past week for me. Trying to smile and stay lifted. Excited to see my little brother, who has managed to grow a nice little "emo" 'do on his head (men in my family are blessed with thick heads of hair), which his girlfriend seems to really like. He's a smart kid, a really smart kid, and he always makes me smile, no matter how crappy I feel. I miss him -- a lot. Luckily, having Tuvia there was a great lift. He's kind of a personified smile. He is always optimistic, uplifted, and manages to keep me afloat. I think it was a good thing for my parents to meet him when they did -- he allowed laughter, smiles, and fun to enter the house for a few days.

At any rate, a sobering post, I know. I have more Israel to talk about, of course, and I'll probably write next on my Bat Mitzvah ceremony, which was a major trip. I think, if anything, the photos will do the talking for me, though. The look on my face? Priceless and cheesy!

My Trip Timeline, with pictures behind the links!

An Abe Lincoln Look-A-Like Enjoys the Celtic Festival

So here's the timeline of my trip south, the videos will come later, so this is just a teaser. There are photos behind some of the links, so be sure to click. I'll be putting up all my photos at some point, but there's a LOT of them.

Friday, May 16, 2008
> Leave work and head to the airport to pick up my rental car. It took me 2 hours to get there, and I drove away with a 2008 Vibe, headed home, grabbed my bags, and headed out of town.
> Arrived in Springfield, Illinois, around 10:30 p.m. and promptly went to bed.

Saturday, May 17, 2008
> Got up at 8 a.m., headed off to Godfrey, Illinois, and happened to get lost on the way. I ended up in po-dunk Illinois where I pulled into a gas station. After getting the attendant's life story (something about rent and her landlord and the electric bill), I asked how to get where I was going. Everyone in the gas station promptly came over and offered their tips and advice. Eventually, a nice fellow in a Silver Chrysler offered to drive me the whole way there. So we hopped in our respective cars and I followed him for about a half-hour through the beautiful country and pure Americana into Godfrey where we stopped at a fruit stand and he sent me on my way. (Note: before the gas station incident, I drove through a small town where I stopped and purchased a fake poppy from a few Veterans selling them for $1 on the side of the road; the old men reminded me of my grandfather -- they, too, were WWII veterans; it made me sad.)

> Found my way (after a quick nosh) to my great-grandfather's old house, behind a restaurant as my mom and aunt had said. I took some photos, and moved on.

> After a brief bit of being lost (again), made my way to the Valhalla Memorial Park cemetery in Godfrey, where after picking up the directions/obit the office lady left me (she's on vacation now), I ended up in the vicinity of the plot. Since they're all flat, it took me about 10 minutes of walking around to locate the grave of my great-grandfather and his last wife, Edna (not my blood relative). It was a simple headstone. I sat down on the grass in the warm sunlight and talked a bit to the great-grandpa I'd never known. I analyzed his neighbors, placed my stones, took some photos, and left.
> From here I headed into Alton, where I was hoping to go to the cemetery some great-great-great something or other relatives are buried. The cemetery has no records of them, but some useful sources said they *are* buried there. I arrived at the cemetery in beautiful Alton, which is really hilly and from which, perched upon the brick-red cobblestone streets, you can see the river. But it would have taken days wandering around to find their stones, so I took some photos of the vast, historic cemetery and went on my way.
> I drove over to the tallest-man statue, which was pretty snazzy. I took some photos, read the information, and departed.
> From here I left Alton and headed over to the World's Largest Ketchup Bottle, which was actually pretty anti-climactic, but I took a photo and called my mom to gloat where I was. I sent a copy of a picture to a friend, as, well, it might have not been that exciting, but it was amusing.
> Headed off to a mall outside of St. Louis on the Illinois side where I partook in some delicious Chick-Fil-A -- the delicacy of my youth -- and sent some friends a note gloating about my meal, since, well, in Chicago we have no Chick-Fil-As. I bought a couple necklaces (including a hamsa one, which I'd been searching for) and then took off for the cemetery in St. Louis.
> My aunt's instructions were perfect to find the plot of the Weilbachers in the New (formerly Old) St. Marcus cemetery. There were more graves in the plot than I expected, including some people I'd never heard of. I called mom and she told me about her "aunt" Alma, though she can't be mom's Aunt. She must be a great-Aunt, or something. I took some photos, meandered around and checked out some of the graves (saw a Hitler one, actually), then took off.

Note: Having been done with my tasks a lot quicker than expected, I toiled with what to do with myself. So I left the area and headed back to Springfield, where I was staying, in hopes of finding something fun to do for the evening.

> On the way back to Springfield, I saw a sign off the road for a Mother Jones memorial, so I took off the highway into this small, small Union town and went to the Mother Jones memorial in this tiny little cemetery full of union workers out in the middle of nowhere.
> Back in Springfield, I drove around for a while, analyzing the map, and spotted a Drive-In movie theater, which absolutely thrilled me. I called mom to look up the theater and tell me the hours and everything. I decided that I would head back in the evening for the 9 p.m. showing of Iron Man; not because I wanted to see Iron Man, but because I wanted to BE in the drive-in since it was such a part of my childhood. To buy time, I went back into downtown in hopes of spotting some historic stuff.
> Unfortunately, everything was closed at 5 p.m., so I wandered over to where a Celtic festival was taking place. They usually have games and a fest, but the games were canceled because of some problems at the fairgrounds. Thus, I drank beer, watched live performances, and took lots and lots of photos and video. Around 7:45, I took off back to the drive-in to guarantee my place.
> At the Drive-In, I bought nachos and a large soda. I tuned my radio to the right station, and sat, excitedly, while the lot filled up and the sun set. The movie started, and it was probably the happiest day of my life. The Drive-In is a lost and taken-for-granted art.
> I went back to the hotel, watched some SNL, and crashed.

Sunday, May 18, 2008
> I got up at 8:45, knowing that nothing really opened until 10. I took my time, got some breakfast, and headed out.
> I arrived at the Lincoln Depot super early, right as the park's officer was getting there. It was about 9:30 and it opened at 10, but he let me in early (thanks!). I took some pictures, then headed over to the Old Capitol Art Fair, which started up at 10 a.m.















> I spent nearly 2 hours at the art fair, looking around, taking photos, noshing and watching a live band perform. I didn't want to leave, because I was so at peace, but I knew I needed to hit a few more spots before heading back to Chicago.
> I took off for the Lincoln Tomb at a local cemetery -- the second most visited in the U.S. after Arlington National. Unfortunately there was construction, so I couldn't rub the lucky nose, but I did get to see the new, old, and holding tombs for Lincoln and his kin.
> I wanted to hit the Museum of Funeral Customs, but it didn't open until 1, so I took off toward Shea's Gas Station museum, but it wasn't open either ... so I headed toward the 55 and north toward home.

Note: It took me about 2.5 hours to get home, but then I hit Chicago and there was traffic. I then went out to the mall off Touhy to pick up some tickets, but showed up 10 minutes late for Ticketmaster, and then hit more traffic on the highway out to O'Hare to return the car and arrived there with 10 minutes to spare. It then took me 2 hours to get home (whoo hoo Blue Line construction), at which time I discovered my apartment had no hot water (and none this morning either).

I just want to say that I'd kill to be back in Springfield right now. Things in the city are so complicated, so delayed, so irritating. The city reminded me a lot of Lincoln (where I spent my teen years and went to college), but I'll go into that with my reflective post, mmk?