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Ode to Our Moms

I shared my previous post, “Warrior Woman”  this morning with my dear friend Joanie, who wrote an “Ode to Our Moms,” as a response to that post. I share that Ode below.

Joanie and I each have moms who were born in the autumn of 1929.  Each of our moms were raised in Brooklyn, New York. Each of our moms have daughters (Joanie and I!) who like to write poetry and prose.

And each of our moms fell last week, were bruised – but are thank G-d doing really well.

Our moms don’t know each other. Her mom, Grandma Vita lives in Santa Monica, California. My mom, Omi Eva lives in Brooklyn, New York. Her mom fell down a flight of stairs, and my mom tripped over a bump in the sidewalk.

Joanie’s poem speaks for the courage and strength of the human spirit, and all of our mothers’  spunk and will to live, to grow and to move on!

May all our Mommies – the matriarchs and model Bubbies of us all live to be 120!! May they continue to inspire us younger Bubbies of the sandwich generation, to be just like them: with the help of G-d, – strong, vibrant, and full of gumption.


Cheers to our moms

Who sit with their bruises

It can be a little confuses

Ahem! That’s confusing

But they keep on singing

Do you get the rhyming?

Ing, ing, ring, ring, ping, ping

Keep on sing-singing

And fix those broken wings

Learn to fly after these things

Cuz life is too short

To cry and to snort!

Warrior Woman

I had arrived at a huge event of the “Siyum Hashas” last week on Wednesday. My husband came home from work early, so we could leave at 3:30 for the program that began at 4:45 at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in Downtown Los Angeles. There was no traffic surprisingly, and we parked, ate our lunch in the courtyard, rented binoculars, and submitted our pre-purchased tickets to the uniformed doorman by 4:15 pm. We were ready to go into the theatre and the doors were still not opened.

No problem. We sat in the huge lobby and relaxed. I heard my cell phone beep, and noticed a text from my mother who lives in New York. Noticing that she had sent me a picture attachment, I opened it, expecting to see the counterpart Siyum that took place in the MetLife Stadium in New Jersey.

Instead, to my alarm, was a photo of my mom in a hospital room. Her face was all bruised and bleeding. She had bandages on her forehead. My mom was sitting on what appeared to be a hospital bed, fully clothed. Her eyes were as  blue as ever, against her flushed face. Except for the black and blue marks all over her face, she didn’t look too bad. (I guess……). If not for her huge smile, I might have fainted. But I stayed strong.

I called my mom. She didn’t answer. I sat there – glued to the plush bench, feeling quite worried. Here I was  in the expansive lobby, waiting to enter a theatre and watch a momentous exhibit of Jewish men celebrating the completion of a 7 1/2 year Talmud learning goal, and my spunky mom just sent me a scary picture of herself. Continue reading

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