Jiminy Cricket, It’s 2018

THIS PAST Wednesday afternoon, while walking in LA (let it not be said that nobody does it), I saw a house that I would love to own, in the area just north of Burbank and just east of White Oak. Here it is:

(That’s my future self avatar washing my future car too, for good measure.)

So right on time for the New Year, there was one of my 2018 intentions/visualizations, which I choose to believe I can transform one day into manifestations… or as I used to say, there’s a dream that I want to come true.

And hey, it’s a Super Moon tonight, so it’s a good time to set your intentions, right? Or wait, it’s a good time to get your hair cut? Or am I just supposed to wish upon a lucky star? I forget.

“When you wish upon a staaaaaaaar…. Makes no difference who you aaaaaaaare. When you wish upon a star, your dreeeeeams come truuuuuuuue…” 

It’s January 1969. I am five years old, in my bedroom with yellow wallpaper in my family’s 3-bedroom, 2-bath Spanish bungalow in West Los Angeles, a block away from the 20th Century Fox studio lot. My room has a window seat with curtains and stuffed animals, and below the cushion there’s a built-in toy chest, the likes of which no other kid was ever so lucky to have, it seemed to me.

I am tickled to have my very own pink record player in my room, and have recently started my first record collection – so far, all of the records have an image of the Magic Kingdom in the center of the album. [Then, as now, Disney had its clutches in children almost from inception, and to this day, I still get giddy when I think about going to Disneyland. I can’t wait to take my nieces on one of their future trips here.]

I select a “Best of” record from my small but mighty collection, one with the big hits like “Zipadee Doo Dah” and “BibbidiBobbidiBoo,” and put it on the record player. I pick up the big fat arm holding the needle and place it as carefully as my pudgy five-year-old fingers will let me, haltingly, on the first track.

Soon enough, Jiminy Cricket is singing those hopeful words to me, instilling my belief that even though we may be different on the outside, on the inside there are no differences between any of us. It doesn’t matter who we are. We all have the same gift; we can have our dreams come true.

Fast forward 20 years. I “grew up.” I thought, “Oh, if only it were that simple.” I forgot how to believe in wishing, because not all of my dreams had come true. Being grown up wasn’t as awesome as I thought it would be for a while.

Now that I’m a little older (and a little less “grown up”?), though, I’ve moved past my initial disappointment of not having ALL of my dreams come true, and am beginning to be more grateful for my dreams that have come true.

The thing is, the cricket didn’t say “Every single one of your dreams, no matter how big or small, will come true.” No, he did not. He was less specific than that. He just said, “your dreams.” So that might mean some dreams, not all. (I know, I know, I really should have been a lawyer. Let’s move on.)

And so today, at the start of this year, I am grateful for every dream that I am living right now. I am healthy. I am clothed. I am fed. I am housed. I have transportation. These are the basics, and I am so grateful for the grace with which I have been gifted, with these conditions completely and utterly met.

I am in strong, healthy relationships with my family and friends. I love and I am loved. A dream come true.

I understand myself better now than I have up to this point in my life. All of the exterior changes I am going through are illuminating my inner strengths in a new way. I feel a strong sense of community both here in Los Angeles and in Vancouver. It has been a dream of mine to feel connected to more than one home, and now I do.

I am excited about all that 2018 is waiting to reveal, about seeing where the opportunities that present themselves take me. I am so happy to have old friends here, and excited about meeting new people and creating new friendships.

Tonight, I’m going to wish on a star and see what happens. I invite you to do the same.


HappySpirit @ Home

I’ve decided to quit going to yoga.  That is, I’ve decided to stop paying to go to yoga classes. Instead of going to yoga, I’m starting to practice yoga. Maybe even starting to live yoga a little. It’s pretty awesome having a happy spirit with me in my own living room.

I’ve written about yoga before – it’s a practice that has been quite beneficial to me over the last two decades of my life, starting from the time I moved from LA to Oakland and had a 9-5 job in The City (that damn City that’s so pretentious, its residents just call it “The City”). (I love that place, goshdarnit.) Continue reading

Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing

I love these candles.


These candles that are almost all burnt, off to the side of me on the kitchen table, on this first Friday night since we moved the clocks forward. It’s 7:47 and almost dark, three stars in the sky, if ya know what I mean. And the Sabbath lights are lit in my kitchen window.

I lit ‘em, yep, I did.

And I said a little prayer. And then it was Shabbat. The Sabbath. Or Shabbos if you prefer. As in Good Shabbos.

The two candles are sitting in ceramic holders I bought in Jerusalem during my junior year of college at Hebrew University over thirty years ago. (Geez, that’s crazy. OVER thirty years.) Candlestick holders were a relatively easy relic for a naïve American 19-year-old girl with limited Hebrew skills to purchase from vendors in the Old City. Continue reading

Gratitude 2015

Thanksgiving almost didn’t happen this year. Even though, since moving to Canada, I have two annual opportunities to celebrate, it felt like the holiday might pass me by entirely. Still, there’s always time to be thankful. And right now, I’m blasting with gratitude.

Alas, my honey and I were both sick in the days leading up to “Canadian Thanksgiving” weekend in mid-October. The week before, we had invited a small group of friends over for dinner that Sunday night. Even though we were still sneezing and coughing Saturday morning, we were optimistic that the tide would turn, so we  did a big grocery shop — a big chicken and all the fixings. [Gratitude blast: I’m thankful for Thanksgiving!] Continue reading

Oh Canada!

download February 23, 2015 felt like my birthday, and in a way it was. For on that day, my life began as a Canadian.

On that spectacularly sunny morning, as I opened my eyes, my sweetheart presented me with a gift of red socks with the word “Canada” across the top – how chic!IMG_0026 And in the kitchen, I found a gorgeous bouquet of a dozen red roses, red carnations, white daisies and a white mum, plus six pink roses (“for love”). The vase was sitting on a souvenir tea towel with a huge red maple leaf and the word “Canada” across the bottom. What a welcome to my new home country!photo 3 But wait, there’s more! Continue reading

Remembering Nana

Nana_RunawaysToday, I honor the grandmothers.

As I write, a yahrzeit candle burns on my desk. A yahrzeit (Yiddish for “a year’s time”) is the anniversary of the death of a loved one, in this case my Nana, who died 23 years ago today.

This morning, I found the words I shared at her funeral the next day. They ring as true today as they did then.

February 5, 1992

Dear Nana,

I guess the biggest thing on my mind right now is just how much I’m going to miss you. You have been such an incredibly big part of my life – for all of my life. I have such vivid memories of you as part of my childhood —  always with your delicious “Nana cookies” and your streudel (which I’m so glad you taught me how to bake — I think it’s about time I tried that recipe out again!). I remember what a treat it was to stay over at your house on weekend nights, and how you always made Matzo Meal pancakes for breakfast for Eric and me. Continue reading

Thanks again

IMG_4983It’s nearing the end of American Thanksgiving, as we call it here in Canada (at home, of course, it’s just Thanksgiving, but that day happened here over a month ago… let’s leave it at that). Rather than making my usual trek to Southern California, I’m in Vancouver this year for what’s decidedly a non-holiday day. I spent it as I might spend any other Thursday, with a bit of work, a couple of meetings, you know, the usual stuff of everyday life. And yet, at about 4:30 this afternoon, I felt compelled to stopped by Hamburger Mary’s on Davie Street with my American pal Leslie for a hot turkey dinner, complete with mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and a double helping of cranberry sauce. It was an extraordinary feast. You can take the girl out of America… Continue reading