The male booby, an almost three-foot-tall seabird, points its blue foot skyward to signal the start of its mating ritual. A few ceremonial moves later the pair trade twigs and nesting material. It’s clear the dance works; in every direction I see white, downy booby chicks nestled near their mothers in circles of cleared ground… Continue Reading
Author Archives: B.J. Yudelson
Thanksgiving Is My Kind Of Day
War and giving thanks don’t go together in an obvious way, so I find it surprising that President Lincoln proclaimed the first national day of Thanksgiving in the midst of the Civil War (or the War Between the States, to give homage to my southern roots). As a percentage of the population, more American lives… Continue Reading
Out of Step
The promise of a kosher meal lured us. My husband Julian and I had eaten vegetarian style for two weeks, first on a windjammer cruise off the Maine coast, then as we camped our way home across New England. Along the way, we stopped at the camp I had attended for six summers in the… Continue Reading
Lost and Found in Translation
On Rosh Hashanah morning, 5775 (2014), I stood with the congregation to recite the U-ne-tane tokef prayer. The second paragraph begins On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed, who shall live and who shall die. In the translation used by my synagogue, it ends, But repentance, prayer, and righteousness cancel… Continue Reading
The Book of Life Revisited
“On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed…who will live and who will die.” This prayer that sounds the theme of the Jewish High Holidays continues, in part, “Who will die at his predestined time and who before his time… who will be at ease and who will suffer…” I… Continue Reading
My Mother, Bert Heyman: August 3, 1907 – June 30, 1990
My sister and I found the photo a few days after Mom’s funeral. While cleaning out her dressing room and closet, we counted twenty-two bed jackets in a variety of pastel shades, more Dacron and cotton bed jackets than skirts, slacks, or even blouses. We commented, yet again, on how sad and cheated we felt… Continue Reading
Nowhere to Hide
I huddle under the doctor’s knee-hole desk, a six year old cornered by the nurse who comes at me with a hypodermic needle. I have run from that big, thick metal spear through examination rooms and the hallway, and now I’ve reached a dead end. The structure I hide under is dark, brown, ugly. After… Continue Reading
Any Day You See A Loon Is A Good Day
“Duck! Quack quack!” My toddler granddaughter grabbed the stuffed loon from the back of our family room couch. “It’s a loon. Can you say loon?” her mother gently corrected and flashed a smile my way. “You’d better know the difference or your grandparents will disinherit you.” My home is full of loons, reflecting the love… Continue Reading
Cooking With Grandma
In my growing-up family, the hired cook ruled the kitchen. From her I learned to make radish roses and carrot curls but not to cook. When it came to dinner or even to a special meal like the Seder, delicious food mysteriously appeared on the table. I had no part in its creation. My children… Continue Reading
The Key
I rub the extraneous key softly while I fumble through my key chain for my house key. The worn key no longer opens any door. It doesn’t start my car or my husband’s. It doesn’t open the lock that secures my solo canoe to the car in summertime. Nonetheless, it hangs on my key chain,… Continue Reading