December DEI

Nobody asked me if I’d like to see a Chanukah menorah/Chanukiah beside the Christmas tree. If it makes my heart gay. If it makes my celebration more meaningful. Who is it for anyway? Bah, humbug!

Menorah & Christmas Tree. Photo by Ronin on Unsplash

I’m accustomed to Christianity being the predominant culture in America. This country was set up that way. The founding fathers did not envision a multi-cultural paradise. Sometime during the 20th century, a little item started to appear alongside the Christmas trees, candy canes, Santas, and green and red holiday decorations: the addition of the Chanukah menorah. This element seemingly proclaimed, “Hey y’all, there’s another thing going on here!” I think it was more of a squeak.

Nobody asked me if I wanted to see a menorah beside the Christmas tree. In these days of post-political correctness of diversity, equity, and inclusion—and commercialization—it seems that the holidays occupying the same month get stuck together like a Rolls Royce/VW combo. I guess the little menorahs generate some good will, some income, for somebody. It doesn’t enhance my holiday.

VW/Rolls Royce combo. AI-generated by JustHavingFun

My holiday celebrates the ability to celebrate our own religion. It commemorates the story of a small band of Jews, the Maccabees, and how they overcome the huge Syrian-Greek (Seleucid) army. Societal and legal pressures to cease practicing Judaism were imposed on Jews by the Seleucids. They allowed Jews to call themselves Jews, but forbade specifically Jewish practices like circumcision, Torah study, and observance of Shabbat. A great number of Jews became Hellenized. The Maccabean revolt started with slaying a Hellenized Jew and grew to vanquishing the Syrian-Greek army. It purged the Holy Temple of pagan practices and cults, and liberated Jerusalem. Then came the miracle of the oil lasting for eight days.

Christmas is lovely, but it’s not my holiday. My holiday—starting the 25th day of the month of Kislev (despite what the secular calendar says)—when pasted next to the red and green 25th of December celebration, diminishes my culture and our peoples’ struggle for identity, which is the ultimate the meaning of my holiday. This may be an unpopular stance, but in regard to Chanukah, I don’t care much for diversity, equity, or inclusion.

Tonight I will light my menorah on the windowsill, a single candle for the first night guarded by another, the shamash. I will sit back and gaze at the small light shining into the darkness. I will contemplate how one small flame distinguishes my holiday, a celebration of spirit and identity. My holiday, Chanukah.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose…

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
“The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.”
— Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (1849)

Reblogging Broken Elections from 2016. Different characters, same game—only the vitriol is worse. (Does it ever get better? Do prices ever decrease?)

US Presidential Elections will occur in November; Trump vs. Harris this time. It’s August, and both conventions are over. Last night Kamala Harris accepted the Democratic nomination. Trump is figuratively foaming at the mouth, stating, “I say that I’m much better looking than her. Much better. Much better. I’m a better-looking person than Kamala” in mid-August. Really? Is this a beauty contest?

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

The country is insane. The world is insane. Values are topsy turvy. I am overwhelmed.

1. Trump was indicted, and is a felon. His supporters idolize him, called for rioting after his conviction. He spouts personal attacks on Vice President Harris. Tom Basile, a host for the conservative news outlet Newsmax, suggested Trump needs to go on a “charm offensive” [instead of being merely offensive – ed.] to energize his campaign.
2. Israeli hostages remain in the hands of Hamas, dead or alive. Since October 7th of 2023, we lament these lives. If they are still alive. Bring the hostages home! Antisemitism is on the rise, “pro-Palestinian” protesters decry Israel’s actions, while Hamas continues to dig in using civilian shields—and the world cries that Israel is the aggressor.
3. War in Ukraine and Russia on the attack.
4. Covid-19 is still here and now WHO declared mpox a public health emergency of international concern.
5. Climate change causes fish kills, record high temperatures, flooding, weather disasters.
6. RFK Jr., another declared candidate, had a brain worm that “got into my brain and ate a portion of it and then died.” And, if that wasn’t enough, left a dead bear on top of a bicycle under a bush in Central Park. Has not withdrawn from the presidential race yet.
7. And on and on….. I’d be here all night if I could write everything on my mind.

Fewer than 90 days until the election. I can hardly wait.

Help! Prayers desperately needed.

Broken Elections

Is It Time?

I think it’s time to write again. Maybe, kinda, I’m thinking about it. Sorta. I guess I should write about writing. That would be a novel idea. Hah! Novel!!

We’ll see about that.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

I don’t like that I haven’t written in over a year. I’ve even had another Covid shot! Maybe I got complacent. Maybe I ran out of ideas. Maybe aliens took over my brain. There’s no explanation. Maybe I just ran out of things to say.

Nah. Not me. I’m an observer and can always describe things in my sight.

Besides, if I do start writing again, it will distract me from so many troublesome things: the war in Israel and the rise of antisemitism; the war between Russia and Ukraine; the frightening dog fight for candidacy in the 2024 elections; and my brittle fingernails. Distraction. What a noble goal!

MEANWHILE… I cannot leave this page without commenting on the tragedy that befell my fellow Jews and other innocents on October 7th by Hamas terrorists. The murders of Israeli innocents and capture of hostages was the largest attack on my people since the Holocaust. As of this writing the hostages have still not been returned. Alive. The United States government is urging for a ceasefire and wants to send supplies to Gaza. I fear the “peace’ and supplies will only be used to further strengthen the terrorists.

Another painful knot in our history. THERE ARE NO WORDS. Prayers for the victims and their families. May Hashem avenge their blood. #StandWithIsrael

Photo by Oleg Vakhromov on Unsplash

Boosted

I get a flu shot every year. Why would I avoid a COVID-19 booster?

Source: MD Governor Larry Hogan, Maryland Department of Health,

Getting a flu shot is no big deal. I don’t want to be knocked out by the flu. (I had it in the 90s and was sick with fever for days. It was so bad, I remember crying for my Mommy!) Furthermore, the pharmacy in a local mass retailer even pays me to get the shot, rewarding me with a $5 store coupon. How cool is that?

Source: CDC.gov

So what’s the big deal about getting a COVID-19 booster, the 3rd of a series? Nothing! They are available in pharmacies, public clinics, and hospitals. The lines are not long and appointments are plentiful.

I got the first vaccine in January 2021 and the follow up in February. Then I got the first booster in October. I waited a while before getting the second booster this past summer. Recently I got the “bivalent” booster. It’s becoming a routine, like getting a flu shot, only you come out with a CDC Vaccination card instead of a $5 store coupon. Some people report experiencing ill effects for a day or two, especially younger adults; it didn’t affect me, however, and I got a shingles vaccination on the same day!

Vaccine resistance. Unfortunately, despite clear scientific evidence to the contrary, people are still disputing the efficacy of the vaccines. Politicization has undoubtedly contributed to hesitancy toward COVID-19 vaccination. Hasn’t this nonsense gone on long enough? Sure, people aren’t dying at as great a rate as before, but that can be attributed to having a health system that is not swamped with people suffering an unknown disease and development of effective medical interventions over the past two years. Fewer DEATHS as an outcome is not a valid measure for the assertion that COVID-19 is not dangerous. We still don’t know the long-term effects. Many people experiencing “long COVID” have normal test results for routine blood tests, chest x-rays, and electrocardiograms.

Some people, especially those who had severe COVID-19, experience multiorgan effects or autoimmune conditions with symptoms lasting weeks or months after COVID-19 illness. Multiorgan effects can involve many body systems, including the heart, lung, kidney, skin, and brain. As a result of these effects, people who have had COVID-19 may be more likely to develop new health conditions such as diabetes, heart conditions, or neurological conditions compared with people who have not had COVID-19.

Source: CDC.gov

As having chicken pox as a child can lead to shingles—a much more serious disease—as an adult, perhaps having COVID-19 also will lead to some as-of-yet unlinked/undiscovered adverse health condition in the future. I’m not a seer but the history of medicine is full of causal and associative health conditions. As medicine constantly evolves, so does our understanding of disease etiology and molecular level processes in the body. I worry for the future sufferers. Many people died of infections before antibiotics. After their development more people lived long enough to suffer and die from illnesses that take decades to develop, like certain cancers, and other ailments of old age. What health problems will people who had COVID-19 be burdened with?

I stand behind my assertions in my October 2021 post, Vaxxed Nation: “The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends getting vaccinated. I concur. It is for these reasons I continue to promote vaccinations and boosters.” Unfortunately, in a world where sound bites and TikTok propagate lies yet form public opinion, relatively lengthy scientific explanations flounder. The public hasn’t the attention span required for thoughtful analysis. As long as the naysayers outshout the researchers and public health officials, their voices will continue to sow confusion and disillusionment.

This cartoon (also reproduced in Vaxxed Nation) is still a (sadly) accurate commentary on the situation:

“The Researcher….” © Jack Ohman, Sacramento Bee, 28 September 2021.

I got boosted. Now you go do it.

Yay! New Job!

I got the good news a few months back. A job offer! After 8 months unemployed and nearly 200 applications sent, my odd-shaped puzzle piece finally fit. I accepted immediately.

My job coach congratulated me after the arduous journey. Arduous journey is right! I have no special advice or insights. I was feeling more and more worn down with every application and rejection. It was getting harder to get up the enthusiasm to continue the search—even with the sword of financial destitution coming down.

At some times it was only the fact that Unemployment required at least 3 job related activities per week that kept me going on that week. 

The system is not set up for older workers using transferable skills to secure a position different from ones they’ve held in the past. How could I present myself for a Financial Assistant position because I know QuickBooks (as discussed with L****—she said she had listings needing QB)? Even my narrative resume crafted for administrative skills couldn’t hide the job history I’ve had in between now and the Executive Assistant-titled position (Office Manager/Admin Assistant) I had 20 years ago where I actually used QuickBooks?

The “perfect” resume needs to pass the computer programs, have all the buzzwords, to get to the HR people. I have no idea why any of the applications I filled were overlooked when I had ALL of the qualifications matched. There is no feedback, no human to talk to. If there were a National Employment Guru running the system I would mention all these points in a discussion. I’m sure I was passed over for age but can’t prove it. How many others were “more qualified” when the job description mentioned only a high school diploma and on-the-job training? Overqualified you say (or not)?  I need a job. If I made it to the interview stage, these questions amused me greatly:

“Why do you want to work at XYZ Corp.?” — I need a job. I’ll work almost anywhere.

“What attracted you to this position?” — I need a job and thought I fit the qualifications.

“You have so much experience. Are you sure you’ll be comfortable in this position?” — I need a job. I’ll be comfortable hanging upside down if need be.

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”  — Still working because I was unemployed so long that my savings were depleted.

“What do you want from your work life?” — I need a job. A regular paycheck and health insurance make a whole lot of “quality of life.”

So now I’ve been at the job some 4 months. Woo hoo!!!

Salary!

Meaningful work leading to important public health achievements!!

Health insurance!!!

In this COVID-afflicted world I work 3 days per week at the office and 2 days from home. All of the team stagger their schedules like this; when I am onsite and the rest of the team is there (which is rare) it is delightful to see and interact with other people. We are required to wear masks, but that is something I do anyhow when I’m out.

I’m still somewhat smarting from my job search. It bit off a chunk of my soul and spit it out. Each bite said I was unemployable, not valued, off my rocker. Each rejection notice — when I received one instead of never being notified — carved another slice off my fragile ego. When I received the call from HR saying they wanted to offer me the position I was in a fog, waking up from a nap, not hardly believing the words I heard over the phone. A job!

So now, ensconced behind my laptop screen and two wide monitors on my desk at work or the laptop screen and single old monitor at my crowded home desk, I have a place to go, a job to do, people who need me, and purpose. I see my contribution to the big picture; they created this position anew and I was the person who fit it!

I have a job, no, a career… and a growing bank account that allows me to pay my bills! I’m far from getting rich, but at least I’m not going negative like I was before. I’m continuing to live frugally because that has been my way of life for so long. There’s not much materially that I need. I would like a vacation, though, a chance to travel. Hopefully I’ll have enough for retirement some day, something I can’t afford to do now.

After all, I just want self-sufficiency, to be a contributor and not a taker. I’m the oldest person on my team and I take direction from people who are younger than my children sometimes. It doesn’t matter… because I am grinning ear to ear, just happy to be there. Whatever the future holds for me, I’m ready for the challenge one day at a time, driving my computer keyboard wherever I am!

Button

Such a simple thing, sewing a button back on the item it fell off of. Simple, if you can find the button again. I know I saved it, set it aside. The question is, where did I put it?

It’s not distinctive but it’s large. It secured the epaulet of my raincoat. A raised-rimmed edge, a nondescript, faux tortoiseshell grayish-brownish body, with four holes. I set it aside one day hoping to sew it on in good time. Then time passed.

I looked in the most likely spots: near my sewing machine, in the jewelry box, and even on the end table in the living room. It could be hiding anywhere. A niggling memory taunts me, a tactile sensation of my fingers tracing the rigid rim, looking for some identification. Though I had saved it and put it aside, I couldn’t remember where the button came from–but it was important to save it for when I would remember.

So I go out in my London Fog with epaulet flapping, visible in my periphery. A semaphore signalling that things get lost in my existence, things are not perfect and sometimes stay awry. It bothers me when I think about it. I want things orderly, in neat compartments. But alas, the lost/found button compartment isn’t where it should be, where it could be, once I sort through the clutter.

In the end sometimes existence teeters on the apex of clutter, misplaced items, and broken thread. If I could find the button again, would I make time to sew it on? Would I search for the strong, thick button thread or do a fast job with what’s on hand? Or, would I push it off another day because it’s not raining today and I’m not wearing that raincoat with its semaphore epaulet flagging its not-so-secret message that I’m so lame I can’t even sew on a button?

What’s the dialogue that I’ll play in my head? Lamebrain? Procrastinator? Dummy? Why is that thought even there? What is going on? The button fell off. End of story. Yeah, I’d like it to be otherwise, but it’s not the end of the world. A floppy epaulet isn’t making me any colder and it’s not allowing more rain on my body than otherwise. So it flaps and flops and reminds me that the button is hiding somewhere in my home. At least I had the presence of mind to retrieve it and put it aside… even though I can’t find it. This time. When I remembered to look. When I had the thick button thread at the ready.

It’s simply a neutral fact that a button fell off, I put it aside but didn’t replace it yet. A button is a button is a button. Fact, not value statement.

It’ll keep.

Vaxxed Nation

It’s nearly a year since I’ve written and I’m still in the same space, but Biden is President and COVID-19 still rages. Sort of the same space. Reluctant to write, feeling like each day is the same, I’ve been minding my own business. Despite the delta variant running wild in the country, my health department job was deemed to be redundant; I’ve been unemployed for 4 months, and am pounding the proverbial pavements again. There’s a void in my life though I spend inordinate amounts of time on the computer. Job searching isn’t as much fun as writing. So, it’s time to blog again. Well, here goes.

Catching up

Link to study: bit.ly/MMWR7043e2

With COVID-19 raging as of my last post, my head was filled with nothing but information on healthcare, health statistics, and medical opinions. That was hard — and unconscionable — to avoid as I worked for the health department as a COVID-19 Contact Tracer, conducting phone interviews with people who had tested positive for COVID-19, asking about their activities, symptoms, and people they had contact with. Outbreaks required additional effort as our team joined the work of the special group tasked with curbing further spread. However emotionally draining, I reveled in being a part of the “essential” workforce.

At the time of the 2020 election (my last post), there was talk of a vaccine becoming available, but the timeline was fuzzy. Around that time I moved to the Data Entry Team. From direct contact with patients, now I saw the side of the operation that generated the “leads” for the Contact Tracers. Daily the numbers rose ever higher. I entered data continuously, seeing the impossible numbers of lab reports come into the system, knowing that they all could not be processed in a timely manner for the lack of personnel.

I merited to receive a vaccination earlier than most, in January, by virtue of being a health department employee. Though I worked from home and had few forays outside and little contact with others, the vaccination gave me peace of mind and opened a mental door that I thought was locked tight. I could go out again, if needed, and be protected. Some small protection knowing the numbers of infected people were rising daily.

“The Researcher….” © Jack Ohman, Sacramento Bee, 28 Sept 2021

After promotion to the Data Entry Team Coordinator, I had a larger view of the actual numbers and how the health departments were using the statistics. Weekly meetings painted a grim picture. Through the spring numbers continued to increase despite the burgeoning of immunization clinics. A miasma of misinformation about the virus and vaccines stunk up the country. The antivaxxers cast doubt on the scientific process, misdirected innocent, questioning people away from being vaccinated. (Some think they use cult tactics to attract followers on social media.) Social media burst with horror stories and disruptive hype. Happily, however, people began to take the vaccines in the many convenient venues set up around the country.

A lull ensued in the beginning of summer as we observed the number of infections drop. By that time the data team had processed nearly 40,000 COVID-19 laboratory test records for 2020 in our county alone. With the number of vaccinated people increasing, everyone expected the number of infections to dwindle away. Indeed, that was the case through June 2021 and my vital but temporary job ended. Little did they know, the delta variant would send numbers rocketing up again.

But the budget had been spent and I was out of a job. So here I am in October 2021 job hunting and following the COVID-19 news nearly as avidly as before.

What’s Happening Now

I received a booster shot earlier this month. As people decide whether or not to obtain boosters, there are still a significant number of people who are not yet vaccinated and an alarming number who continue to spread misinformation about the COVID-19 vaccines. What a tragedy!

I know individuals who have been fully vaccinated and still became ill with COVID-19 “breakthrough infections.” Indeed, two immunized people previously had COVID-19 last year before the vaccines became available, presumably conferring some kind of immunity as well!! All had contact with young children who, because of their ages, could not be vaccinated. Fortunately the illnesses were not severe for all and did not require hospitalizations.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends getting vaccinated. I concur. It is for these reasons I continue to promote vaccinations and boosters. I also continue to recommend mask wearing, and observance of social distancing, especially for older people and those with other health issues. These activities are not ideal, but protection of vulnerable populations is an ethical imperative and civic duty.

So, wish me luck in my job search!

Schroedinger’s President

I have not listened to the news yet. It’s November 4th, the day after the US elections and I still do not know whether Trump or Biden is the projected winner of the election, this hotly controversial election, this disgrace of an election.  I don’t know even if there is a projected winner because all of the mailed-in ballots have not yet been counted.

My unwillingness to hear the news reminds me of the Schroedinger’s Cat thought experiment.

“Schroedinger’s Cat Poster”, © Jay Gannett, CC BY-SA 2.0

Erwin Schrödinger, an Austrian physicist, posited this in 1935:

[A] cat, a flask of poison, and a radioactive source are placed in a sealed box. If an internal monitor (e.g. Geiger counter) detects radioactivity (i.e. a single atom decaying), the flask is shattered, releasing the poison, which kills the cat. The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when one looks in the box, one sees the cat either alive or dead, not both alive and dead. This poses the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality resolves into one possibility or the other.⁽¹⁾

Thus, in my current state of mind, both Trump and Biden have been elected. Once I hear the news, it will resolve into one possibility or the other. OR WILL IT?

Cringeworthy electioneering dominated the news: name-calling, lies, posturing, COVID-19 superspreader events, vitriol, and fearmongering. Between the virus and the elections, I avoided news, sought escape watching comedy recordings, woodturning videos, and snippets of House episodes on YouTube. I mailed my ballot and received email confirmation that it was received. DONE! I’ve been subjected to the circus for overlong, having made my decision well before the last moment. I’ve had it. Even the Baltimore mayoral race doesn’t excite me—it’s a foregone conclusion the Democratic candidate will win.

I don’t have a TV, and only read the funnies and do the crossword puzzle in the free Sunday newspaper that lands on my doorstep every week. I mostly get my news from NPR radio and internet, but I have to choose to listen and choose to view a particular news site. Remember choice? Six second political ads bookended my YouTube viewing choices. I succumbed to watching Jimmy Fallon, Stephen Colbert, and Seth Meyers’s monologues. Although heavily anti-Trump, lampooning Biden only a fifth as much as the president, they were compelling, like rubbernecking at an auto accident or picking a scab.

“ABC News 29 September 2020 Presidential Debate”, © Elvert Barnes, CC BY-SA 2.0

Even when I finally hear the news, barring a landslide victory for one or the other candidate, the election results will be in a state of flux until the final votes are counted, contested, and vetted by the Court. Accusations of mail fraud, disputes over postmarks, lawsuits and voter roll examinations loom ahead. Thus, Schroedinger’s President.

When will the election be decided? Who knows? I shrug my shoulders and reach for my mug. This is all beyond me. Just as COVID-19 will dominate my life and thoughts night and day for the next while, this reality of this election will linger. No clear resolution presents itself. A supernatural superimposed Trump-Biden presidential state exists as long as I don’t look, as long as the results are contested, as long as the Electoral College has not cast their votes and selected the victor. But this is unprecedented; even after that point, the election could still be contested.

It could go on and on and on. Is ignorance bliss?

I’d better gird myself with a big cup of coffee before I clock in to work. Maybe later I’ll crack open that bottle of wine I’ve had for nearly 5 years after work. I think I’ll need it.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

1. Source: Wikipedia, Schrödinger’s Cat, Retrieved 4 November 2020.↩

COVID-19 Days

This isn’t what I wanted to write, but I wanted to say something. I needed to say something. It’s just… this virus thing is… so… H-U-G-E, affecting everything. From personal life and intimacy to international politics and economics, our lives have been turned upside down. Honestly, my life hasn’t changed that much — I had been staying in mostly and didn’t socialize much — but in another way, it changed one thousand percent.I feel small, wary, and on guard.

Since March 2020, I can’t relax. I’m of a certain age and have some medical conditions that make COVID-19 more of a health risk for me than others. I’m also caring for an elderly parent and need to stay healthy to attend to her needs. In the beginning I would not go out at all. I listened to the news all day. I commiserated with my friends and family. I was consumed by COVID-19.

Toilet paper aisle at Target, March 15, 2020. ©JustHavingFun

And I was consumed by obtaining toilet paper for my mother when none was in the stores.

Gradually I allowed myself to go shopping every two weeks or so. It was a necessity; there weren’t enough healthy shoppers to fill the demand and the online reservations filled instantly. Shopping, a reluctant routine now, substitutes for social outings I’m missing. Hand sanitizer attached to my key lanyard, masks in car and shopping list in hand, I zip through the store. I try not to be the “mask police” but sometimes it’s necessary. I can’t avoid telling people wearing masks below their noses to pull them up, over the nose, explaining, “I’m a Covid Tracer,” as if that will bulletproof me from their surprise, compliance, anger, or whatever attitude they want to turn my way. 

Here it is October already and I’m still consumed with the virus. So yeah, COVID-19, or SARS-CoV-2, dominates my day. I work as a Contact Tracer for the Health Department. My job entails talking to people who have tested positive for the virus. I instruct them how to isolate properly and how long to stay isolated in order to protect their families and members of the public from their contagiousness. I interview them about places they’ve been and people they may have been in contact with in the period before they learned they were infected. I answer questions they may have about the virus, why they must stay isolated for 10 days, and how to enter back into public life. Some are really sick, others don’t feel any different than normal. Some are grateful and thank me, fewer are defensive and avoid follow up calls. I’ve encountered all types of people, all precious souls who deserve dignity and respect.

What I say to everyone all comes down to 3 basic instructions: wear a mask, wash your hands, watch your distance.

How to Protect Yourself & Others: Wear a mask, Wash your hands, Watch your distance.  Image: cdc.gov/coronavirus

I talk warmly to my cases, congratulate them for taking steps to quarantine themselves before they had official results when that’s the case. I help them figure out how to keep their kids safer and send them links to CDC articles outlining all sorts of information. I tell them their smell and taste may be slower to come back after they recover from other symptoms. I tell them to have chicken soup, advice from me, the Jewish mother, and not me, the representative from the Health Department. I warn them to stay vigilant, that a person can become infected a second time, supported by a genetic study reported in The Lancet on October 12, 2020. I tell them if they feel worse to call 911, not to scare them, but to inform them.

When I get off the phone with my clients, I give them blessings. “I hope you feel better and recover soon,” and “I hope your family remains healthy.” They absorb my words and shine them back at me. I close my eyes, speak sincerely, and send these messages with love and hope.

Masked Me, August 2020. ©JustHavingFun

I’m grateful I can do my bit in the universe to prevent others from becoming infected. I hope my efforts have some positive effect. But oh, I suffer hearing how many are infected, how the virus is spreading, and worst, how many have died. Politics interfered with halting the spread of the virus in the United States. It shouldn’t have. Science must prevail if there is to be a level-headed way to manage this public health crisis. It’s going to be a while until an effective, safe vaccine can be developed… and distributed. The newest crisis of our generation, like Kennedy’s assassination, the Viet Nam War, or where you were on 9/11, this will be something to tell my grandchildren about: what I did during the COVID-10 pandemic.

Until then, I’ll be wearing my mask, keeping up with developments, and trying not to be consumed. My fear has abated — perhaps due to familiarity and having a routine — but I’m still staying home, choosing the bubble, eschewing seeing my friends and family in person, and staying small.

Diamonds are small, too.  

Buckeye Season

It’s Buckeye Season, that time from Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, to the time when all of the leaves have crinkled off the trees and lay pulverized under feet and in the streets. Buckeyes on the trees and underfoot peek slyly out of their husks, begging to be gathered. And so we did gather them, and the gathering became our annual ritual.

“Ohio Buckeyes,” © J. Stephen Conn, CC BY-NC 2.0

The congregation I attended was housed in the Hebrew Institute of Pittsburgh, an edifice built in the 1950s, resembling an L-shaped, two-story junior high school. Classrooms bordered the exterior of each hallway, four long hallways. Only the first floor front hall, parallel to Forbes Avenue, was off limits because that one ran along the length of the auditorium where the prayer services were being held. My friends and I were inattentive at times to the lengthy prayer services that started around 8:30 a.m. and ended short of noon on a regular Shabbos, and even as late as 1:30 to 2:00 p.m. on the holidays themselves. The moment the officiant paused for “the speech,” kids fled the room. We knew some “cranky old man” would come out and shush us if we got too wild, so we fled outdoors or scattered to the other three hallways.

“Buckeyes Ready to Fall,” © Sean Benham, CC BY-ND 2.0

Across Forbes Avenue, and a bit past the corner, a large buckeye tree towered over the curb. Buckeyes are also known as horse chestnuts and are the state tree of Ohio. In September, timed perfectly for the holidays, the buckeyes ripened in their husks and dropped to the ground. The spiky husks could be manipulated with the sides or toes of our shiny holiday shoes to free the captive nuts. My fingers remember the prickles of the sharp pods I couldn’t avoid touching. In the mid-1960s our dresses were still relatively long, knee-length at least. That was enough fabric to fill with a good collection of shiny and slightly sticky buckeyes. Our skirts billowed with a mahogany, nut-brown, and coffee-colored fortune.

Buckeyes entertained us in myriad ways. Buckeye games could be played outdoors.”⁽¹⁾ Flicked like marbles, tossed at targets, and used to provoke other kids, buckeyes were all purpose fun. Once back in the building, the second floor above the forbidden hallway became a dark bowling alley. Those scavenged treasures caromed off the walls and skittered down the terrazzo floors. They rolled on the bathroom tiles. They were launched as missiles and stuffed down the unwary child’s shirt collar. My BFF even ventured into the sanctuary and lined them up on the edge of the platform where the adults led the services! I suppose she felt daring because her father was the President, so in her mind she could not possibly get in trouble.

But kids age and after a few years we no longer rolled buckeyes in the hallways and pelted our adversaries. We were too “mature” for those childish pursuits and we girls found better ways to avoid “the speech”… like flirting with boys. I still visited the buckeye tree, however, and always pocketed a few.

Even as a young adult, I visited the buckeye tree in the fall and selected a few beauties. They warmed in my palm and slid together in a satisfying way. They reminded me of those happy childhood activities, but I stayed in the prayer services, even through the dreaded “speech.” On Rosh Hashanah it is customary to symbolically cast off our sins by going to a body of water, reciting some verses, and sprinkling a few bread morsels into the water in the tashlich ritual. In those years, we collected our buckeyes and rolled them down the steep hill of Darlington Road in a tashlich-style ceremony. Gales of laughter and the sensation of our hearts lifting in frivolity followed the buckeyes down the asphalt. Their abandonment released our mirth and enhanced the holiday season.

Beautiful towering flowers in the spring yield shiny buckeyes in the fall. “Aesculus hippocastanum (Horse-chestnut),” © Plant Image Library, CC BY-SA 2.0

Another year I collected enough buckeyes to make long strings to decorate my home’s sukkah, the temporary outdoor dwelling we use for the eight-day Sukkos/Sukkot festival. Many people decorate their sukkas with fruit, gourds, and beautiful pictures. I took my drill and created an assembly line. Drill, string, push them down the cord, drill more. My sukkah boasted those happy strands of buckeyes for many years.

Even after I moved away from Pittsburgh to areas lacking buckeye trees, my friend remembered me during buckeye season. She mailed me a buckeye care package! I kept a few on my desk for a few years. In a burst of creativity last year, I used them in an art project celebrating nature which I donated to a charity auction. I hope the bidder was amazed and entertained by them as much as I was.

Buckeye season is a state of mind requiring only some buckeyes, or even photos of buckeyes, to evoke the pleasantness. These nuts are poisonous to humans so don’t eat them! But oh! they’ve nourished my soul for years. My BFF and I still play buckeye games and talk buckeye talk. Fifty years have passed since we filled our skirts with the brown treasures. That old tree is gone, but when I go back to Pittsburgh, I know the location of another one to visit. Today we laugh together about rolling buckeyes during prayer services, and it keeps us young and silly. I’m looking forward to celebrating buckeye season for a long time. We’re never too old for fun!

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^{1. Buckeyes in the UK have been used for the game of conkers. “Roald Dahl was a big conker fan.” https://www.projectbritain.com/conkers.html, accessed October 1, 2020. ↩}