http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPonwzdJz0Q

Please read with the song in the foreground.

I danced one Saturday night to this song. My heart, my ears, and my bones filled with love; my muscles pulsated with its light. I felt the invincible strength that music, when I connected to it, was capable of bestowing. I moved through the air of beats, brought back to life, the way I wanted to live: happy as I looked at people dancing around me with trusting curiosity.

The music says one thing, but she asks him not to leave her this way. It reminded me of love’s vulnerable insecurity, as I felt mine in that moment on the dance floor. I didn’t want this energy to leave my body after the song was over and I didn’t want to go on existing back on land, instead of flying with the angels. Don’t leave me happiness.
Hear my plea to be satisfied, God.

If I am not fulfilled within myself, I cannot be fulfilled by another. These are the old words of wisdom. Yet I continue to beg.

If I didn’t go to work today, I wouldn’t be given a red velvet cupcake with a little red heart on it.  The cupcake became the day’s gauge for all the decisions that I have made in my life.  All that I’ve done up until this point led me to collide with this beautiful and delicious dessert, and at the moment when I was painfully hungry, it was generously gifted to me.  Even though I didn’t usually like cupcakes, I loved this one.

“Luck must be on my side,” I smiled, licking the white frosting.

Valentine’s day, like Birthday, is an over-sized expectation.  The litmus test for insecure lovers.  Oh insecurity, thy faces are many.  I wish I could stop questioning my own lovability.

I loved Valentine’s day but I woke up sad that morning, thinking about all my troubles and fears.  But the cupcake changed my mood.

I count on life’s turnarounds (180’s).  When life feels it can’t get any worse, my boat changes course swiftly before crashing into the cliff on the shore.

The cupcake made me feel so good, that I got an urge to spread the love.  I ran out and got a card and some special macaroons for Isaiah and friends.  I picked him up from a play date for a quiet Valentine’s day dinner at home.

There were no special plans.  It was Shabbat, and Shabbat is always special.  We lit the candles and covered our eyes to say thank you for the light of Shabbat.  He ate most of his chicken soup with buckwheat and avocado.  And for that, he got rewarded with half a slice of leftover pizza.  He waited for me to finish my half so that he can have a lot, while I have nothing.  He was patient in his resolve to wait me out while I gobbled mine up.

I filled up the bath and while he asked me if I know about superheros who can fly above the sun.  He got in.

“Dunk your head Isaiah,”  I said.

He put his head back and turned around and around, not realizing the water gets into your nose when you do that.  By the third time, he held his nose.  After, he laid in my lap, while we watched the Muppet Show on the big Polar Bear pillow on the floor.  Paul Williams’ charm and talent dripped from the screen into our hearts.  As if Rainbow Connection was not enough, but that deserves its own post.

After getting into bed, he swallowed a smeshinka, a Russian word that sounds like snowflake that makes you laugh when you swallow it.  Even if I touched his knee, he got into a fit of ringing child laughter.

“Ok, Zuke, it’s time to go to bed,” I said, but thought, how much longer does he have to laugh like that?

Old-Fashioned Love Song

By Paul Williams

Just an old-fashioned love song playin’ on the radio
And wrapped around the music is the sound
Of someone promising they’ll never go
You swear you’ve heard it before
As it slowly rambles on and on
No need in bringin’ `em back,
`Cause they’re never really gone

Just an old-fashioned love song
One I’m sure they wrote for you and me
Just an old-fashioned love song
Comin’ down in 3-part harmony

To weave our dreams upon and listen to each evening
When the lights are low
To underscore our love affair
With tenderness and feeling that we’ve come to know
You swear you’ve heard it before
As it slowly rambles on and on and
No need in bringin’ `em back,
`Cause they’re never really gone

Just an old-fashioned love song
Comin’ down in 3-part harmony
Just an old-fashioned love song
One I’m sure they wrote for you and me
Just an old-fashioned love song
Comin’ down in 3-part harmony
Just an old-fashioned love song
One I’m sure they wrote for you and me

The snow keeps falling.  There is a storm every few days now.  How many will it take until we stop calling them storms and come back to the time when we said, “Look, it’s snowing today.  It’s beautiful outside.  All white.”

In Vinnetsa, when I was a child, the snow kept the streets covered most of the winter.  We ice-skated at the big park across the street from our house, and went skiing down its hills on the weekends.  The skis were made of wood and I stepped into the straps with my boots on.  Holding on to poles that were too big, I went down the soft, crunchy hill.  I didn’t have patience to walk back up with my skis, I just wanted to keep going down.

Snow covered New York, finally, after departing for so many years.  Like a forgotten lover, who was beautiful but misunderstood.

“I left you, because you kept calling me bad names, like storm and blizzard and nor’easter, which I didn’t appreciate.  You were making too much drama and I was sick of you.  I left for calmer, more appreciative pastures, like Vermont and Colorado, where people cheer when I do my thing.”

“But now.  I am back, to show(snow) you, I can really shake them down,” said the falling snow.