Happy Birthday!

This one is for my mother, who reads every post and is smart enough to never, ever comment.

 

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Friday Repost: Okay, THIS is Pressure

Last week’s repost was about family exerting “pressure” on you to get married. Following that post, someone sent in a real live example of pressure from her dear old grandmother.

…Well, no surprise there. Grandmothers are the main source of marriage-directed pressure in my life. Possibly the only one. I don’t understand why. They already have grandchildren. Do they also need great-grandchildren? Isn’t that just a little bit greedy?

Or is it something different? Maybe it’s like the difference between how you treat children and grandchildren. Grandparents can tell you the stuff your parents really want to say, because they’re not your parents.

If that’s the case, I don’t want to know about it…

Dvar Torah of the Weekend

Said the kollel-man: “So Yisro’s daughters are chased away from the well, but Moshe rescues them. They go home. Yisro says, “How’d you get here so fast?” They say, “A man rescued us.” Yisro says, “There was a man at the well and you didn’t bring him home?!”

Said the single girl at the table: “Sounds just like my parents.”

What Am I Describing?

“When I saw the coffin I was like, ‘Really? They fit him into that? They didn’t even need to widen it around the middle?’ I mean, this is a guy who never went anywhere without his iPod, iPad, cell phone, pager, Hatzolah walkie-talkie, and Chaverim toolkit, just in case he needs to break into a car in a hurry. He jangled so much when he walked, you thought a robot was coming down the block. His belt added about a foot to his waistline. He never went anywhere without all that stuff, there’s no way he’s going to heaven without them either.”

Pause

“Or wherever he’s going.”

Pause

“I mean, you never know. God’s car might break down, and we know there aren’t too many mechanics in heaven.”

Pause

“So, here we are folks, mourning the passing of our esteemed friend, relative, and colleague, Yosef Schwartz. I’d like to invite his rabbi and mentor to give the next eulogy. Rabbi Cohen was in charge of Yossi’s spirituality. The guy who was supposed to make sure our friend here went to the good place. I don’t see any smoke coming from the coffin yet, so that’s a good sign. Ladies and gentlemen: Rabbi Dovid Cohen.”

“Thank you, thank you. You know, I really don’t think we have to worry about Yossi. I knew he was a good boy from the very start. We first met about a year after he joined our yeshiva. He had taken a hot slice of pizza—with the cheese just browning and bubbling—out of the toaster, and dropped it, right on the floor in front of the stove. Cheese side down, of course. Yossi was always meticulous about following rules, and Murphy’s law was no exception.

“Anyway, Yossi knew that many bits and scraps of food—both milchigs and fleishigs—had fallen in front of the stove over time, and in fact, most of them were still there. He really wanted to brush off and eat his perfectly baked pizza, but wasn’t sure if it was kosher.

“R’ Katz, who he usually went to for sheilos, was in LA at the time and Shabbos hadn’t ended yet. In desperation he called me. I immediately took a liking to the sincere, sweet boy, and we’ve been in touch ever since. He never hesitated to ask me even his most sensitive questions. I’ll miss him, but I know he’s happier now. He has access to much greater rabbanim than me now, and for his really tough questions, he can even go to the Ultimate Rebbe himself. In fact, right now the Ultimate Rebbe is probably pinning a medal on him for throwing out that pizza, and having blueberry pie for melaveh malka instead.”

“Thank you R’ Cohen for your kind words. You know, I bet they’re making up for that pizza right now with an entire pie that tastes… just… heavenly. Although I think they have to order in, since I hear most of the ovens are kept elsewhere.

“Our next speaker is someone who may have a different perspective on where Yosef wound up. We’re talking about someone who still remembers the time he colored on the walls and wouldn’t let him forget why they had to paint the living room mauve. She used to be upset because he didn’t call often enough. Well, he definitely won’t be calling now, Mrs. Schwartz. But you can send him a message anyway, while his neshama is still lingering. Everyone: Yossi’s mother, Mrs. Eve Schwartz.”

*     *     *

Okay. Now imagine the subject of these speeches is still alive and sitting there, listening.

Now swap out the jokes about God, heaven, and hell for jokes about mother-in-laws, wives, and jewelry shopping.

What do we have? Yep: sheva brochos.

On Second Thought…

Quote of the week:

“Your parents should make three weddings this year!”

~ My Grandmother

“Do you want to bankrupt them?”

~ Me

But now I’m also wondering what the parents will do without any kids around to help out with the chores. What do parents do when their kids are all upped and moved out? I know there are fewer dishes to wash and fewer clothes to wash (assuming the kids don’t bring theirs over) and fewer plates to set out and so on, but the table still needs setting and the laundry still needs washing. There’s still the same amount of floor to vacuum and windows to wash.

In the old days, farmers would have truckloads of children specifically to help out with the chores. And by the time the youngest was married off, they were retired – one way or another. But how does it work nowadays? Do they stop vacuuming? Move to a teeny little apartment near the grandkids? Anyone here know? How will they manage without us?