All posts by Teri

He Had Me at Humble

Observe & Ponder,

Rabbi Marcus’ article in the latest issue of Chabad Magazine was titled “The Humble Girls of Jerusalem,” but the word “humble” was what caught my eye, and prompted me to read his piece.

His article was adapted from Likkutei Sichot, Volume 24, page 57.

Likkutei Sichos is a series of 39 volumes that contain the teachings of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, also known as the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Hebrew title, Likkutei Sichos, translates to “Collected Talks” in English.

According to Rabbi Marcus, this particular teaching by the Lubavitcher Rebbe about humble girls explains that we all come from different lifestyles, families, religions, and socio-economic backgrounds but that “…fundamentally, it boils down to two types of people.”

“The first type takes credit for their genes, good looks, family heritage, and parents’ wealth.”

“The second type, the poor, unattractive girl, can’t boast family or wealth. Instead, she demonstrates that she’s self-made, knowledgeable, capable, and, most importantly, understands what it means to struggle. This poor G-d-fearing, ‘daughter of Jerusalem,’ is not ugly, and she knows you’ll see her beauty once she can afford a decent haircut, a new dress, and some essential jewelry.”

I found the words of both Rabbis to be incredibly stirring, and having been brought up in humble beginnings, I related to the poor, unattractive, God-fearing girl.

I honestly never heard of Likkutei Sichos before, but the Rebbe’s teaching about the humbleness of one’s importance touched and uplifted me.

The article also brilliantly connected Chasidic teachings with the moon.

I don’t know about you, but I’m obsessed with the moon and spend an abundance of time gazing at and adoring it in stupefied wonder.

Speaking of the moon, Jews primarily use it as the basis for their calendar because Jewish tradition dictates that their calendar should be lunar-based.

Dating back to ancient times, the Jewish calendar follows the moon’s cycles—with the new moon marking the start of a new month. As stated in the Talmud: “Israel counts by the moon,” while other nations count by the sun, which is why the Jewish holidays begin at sundown.

But I digress.

According to Rabbi Marcus, in Chasidic teachings, the moon serves as the perfect example of humility and humbleness. The words he used to describe the moon’s connection to these selfless qualities were beautiful and incredibly inspiring:

“…the moon…gracefully lets everyone know it’s just a reflection of the sun’s light…the moon shows us how to be a graceful receiver, shining a beautiful light that’s not its own.”

Rabbi Marcus’ words about God, humility, humbleness, and the moon touched my religious senses in a way I had never before been moved.

And I can’t imagine I will ever look at the moon the same way again.

Rabbi Marcus ended with: “You could be rich, beautiful, and from a great family, but your true power comes when you lift your eyes and see where it all comes from.”

Amen to that.

Tarot For Beginners

Marketing & Publishing, ,

When I need a distraction, I mostly turn to writing. Except during Covid, I had a massive case of writer’s block, so I inexplicably drummed up two hobbies: Dollhouses and Tarot Cards.

Long story short, beginning in March 2020, while Covid was infecting and killing, I refurbished an old family dollhouse and then built three more while simultaneously learning and practicing tarot card readings.

I happen to love playing board games, so why not try my hand at tarot cards?

In reading up on Tarot, I discovered that people used the cards as far back as the 1400s as a parlor game, and since I had a sh*tload of time on my hands, I thought it would be a playful way to spice things up socially.

Or I should say antisocially since I wasn’t socializing with anyone except my husband for way too many months during Covid when I decided the best strategy for staying alive was staying inside.

And since my husband called tarot cards “hogwash,” I was stuck practicing tarot solo.

In between hiding from Covid and dollhousing, I would pull one tarot card daily and read up on their meanings. But most of the time, the cards spoke for themselves with their stunning imagery and allegorical symbols. Plus, it became a fun diversion at a time when fun was not in my vocabulary.

Four years later, I feel I can finally read the cards reasonably well, but I still refer to my notes—now my latest book—for guidance.

One of the best things that came out of Covid for me was writing my most recent release—a 96-pager that I had no idea I was even going to write!

Tarot for Beginners is a helpful guide for interpreting the Rider-Waite®Tarot Deck and an enjoyable pastime to share with friends. I also threw in a touch of numerology and astrology to make it more interesting.

And to set the record straight, Tarot For Beginners is NOT a book about the occult, witchcraft, or fortune-telling. That would be giving me way too much extra-terrestrial credit.

Plain and simple, my book is a unique and quirky way to add some amusing entertainment to a social gathering.

I hope you give it a try!

Click here to order Tarot For Beginners, or for more information about my latest release.

The Itsy-Bitsy Spider Fiasco

Family & Relationships

The Itsy-Bitsy Spider was my daughter’s favorite nursery rhyme.

She sang it non-stop.

Wherever we went, she would belt that song out like a professional, and she had a cute little voice.

But I was mortified.

Why?

Because instead of Itsy-Bitsy Spider, she would melodiously chant Itchy-Bitchy Spider.

Repeatedly. And over-the-top loud.

As you can imagine, her nursery rhyme cussing did not reflect well on either one of us.

And did I mention that I was non-stop humiliated and hugely embarrassed?

Who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t a good look. At all.

But she didn’t care.

No matter how often I tried to correct her or how many times I tried to shush her or explain to her that she was using a “dirty word,” my beautiful but spunky little girl continued to call that spider an itchy bitch.

As I wandered through grocery store aisles, stood in line at the bank, or dropped her off at nursery school, she would croon about that bitch of a spider who never seemed to make it to the water spout.

♪♪ ♪ ITCHY ♪♪♪ BITCHY ♪♪♪ SPIDER ♪♪♪

Some people laughed, others stared blankly, but most just gave me dirty looks.

What could I do? Gag her?

A gazillion years later, she’s still precocious, with an itsy-bitsy potty mouth.

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 31: Bridgeport Hospital

Teri's Novelog — My Stolen Diaries, , ,

CHAPTER 31

 BRIDGEPORT HOSPITAL

September 16, 1966

I’ve been begging Mem to let me stay with her in Bridgeport ever since Mom asked for my permission to marry Rob, which I will never give her.

Mem promised to talk to Mom, but it caused a huge fight when she did. I was standing in the upstairs hallway, eavesdropping. Mere Germaine hadn’t been feeling well for a few days, so she was lying in bed. But I’m sure she heard the whole ugly thing.

First, Mem asked if I would attend Catholic School in Westport, and Mom said, “No, the Junior High School near Rob’s house is one of the best in the country.” I was gunning for Mem when she said, “But Tony wants to go to Notre Dame with her friends.”

“Well, that’s not happening,” Mom said in a raised voice. I thought Mem would blast her for speaking in such a disrespectful tone.

Instead, Mem asked if she could pick me up some weekends and bring me back to Success Park, and Mom said a flat-out “No.” That’s when things turned nasty.

Mem got loud and had a lot to say. “Westport is not for her, and you know it. It’s not bad enough that you’re taking her from me, but now you’re saying she’s not allowed back in Bridgeport? Let her go to Notre Dame with her friends. Let her stay with me during the week.”

Mom tried to interrupt, but Mem got even louder.

“I’ll drive her to you on the weekends. Let’s try to ease her into this thing. Maybe she’ll grow to like it. She can always change schools. She’s thirteen years old. I’m not sure she can handle Westport.”

Mom screamed back at her in response.

“This is not about Tony; this is about you. You want her all for yourself. It doesn’t matter to you that she’ll destroy her chances for a better life because she wants to hang out with her loser friends. She needs to get out of Bridgeport. I’m her mother, and she’s coming with me.”

Mem tried to say more, but Mom stormed out of the apartment. Mom’s decision was final, and I was furious and determined to make her pay.

But I never got the chance for revenge because the next day, Mere Germaine took a turn for the worse and was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.

Every day, the three of us sat at her bedside at Bridgeport Hospital. Mere Germaine was weak, but she was a fighter, and we were all praying she would come home soon.

Then, one night, Mem woke me up, clutching her heart, and told me to get Mom because she couldn’t breathe. Mom called an ambulance, and they took her away—also to Bridgeport Hospital.

Mom was relieved that Mem and Mere Germaine were on different floors, even though they both had heart conditions. We didn’t want to worry Mere Germaine, so we told her that Mem couldn’t visit her because she was busy working.

I know Mere Germaine didn’t believe Mom, and I could see that her anxiety about what might have happened to Mem was taking a terrible toll on her health, which was getting worse by the minute.

On our way to the hospital on September 23,  three days before Mem’s Birthday, I finally convinced Mom to tell Mere Germaine that Mem was in the same hospital. And she promised she would.

When we got to the hospital, we first went to see Mem, and we told her that we had no choice but to let Mere Germaine finally know the truth. She was unhappy about it but too weak to argue.

Then we took the elevator one floor up to see Mere Germaine. I was confused when we got to her room because her bed was empty.

Mom fell to the floor screaming. Then I screamed out for someone to help Mom because I didn’t know what was going on, and I was scared to death.

Mom was rolling around on the floor, writhing in pain, so I jumped on top of her. She grabbed me and held on so tight I thought she would crush me.

“She’s dead, oh my God, she’s dead, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she kept wailing over and over and over again.

And then it was like a knife got shoved into my heart. That’s when I realized why Mere Germaine’s bed was empty. My beautiful, loving, remarkable great-grandmother was dead.

It took a while for the nurse to get us both off the floor. Mom continued to crush me against her, and I have never in all my years seen her so beaten down.

Through tears, Mom asked to see Mere Germaine, but the nurse explained that they had already taken her away.

“Where did they take Mere Germaine?” I repeatedly asked Mom, but she was in no shape to answer me.

When she finally let go of me, she drew in a deep breath, and it was the first time in all my years that I ever saw Mom take charge.

We left the hospital, and she called the Germaine family to let everyone know the horrible news. She called the funeral home and St. Ambrose and made all the arrangements for Mere Germaine’s funeral.

And then she silently took me back to the hospital to visit Mem but never told her that Mere Germaine was dead. She was afraid it would kill her too, which, at the time, it probably would have.

Three days after Mere Germaine died, we buried her—on Mem’s birthday. After the funeral and burial, Mem’s doctor set up a time for him to be in the hospital room with us so Mom could tell her about Mere Germaine.

As soon as we walked into Mem’s room, she wept uncontrollably. Mem said she knew that Mere Germaine was gone from the look on Mom’s face.

The doctor gave her a pill to put under her tongue so her heart wouldn’t stop. I was on one side of Mem’s bed, and Mom was on the other. We laid our heads on her and sobbed uncontrollably while Mem placed a hand on each of us and softly and bravely prayed.

“Dear Lord, with heavy hearts, we place our beloved Jewel St. Germaine in your care. Although her body is gone from us, her soul will live on in eternity. May a choir of angels keep her safe until we meet again. Now and forever, Amen.”

In that moment of tears and prayers, I realized that Mere Germaine had been the glue that held us together.

And just like that, we went from a family of four strong, invincible females to three shattered and broken survivors.

Stay tuned for Chapter 32: From Rags to Riches