I'm Jewish, but not very good at it. My brother was bar mitvah'd; I wasn't. Not that I wanted all that extra education with the tongue twisting language, mind you, but I was really jealous of all the gifts and money he got after the ceremony, and the big party with all the great eats. At age 8, I had to wear a horrible, fancy dress that scratched me around my plump waist, get my hair all fancied up, and pose for what seemed like thousands of black and white photos with my feuding parents, who had divorced three years earlier, were trading acid looks with each other. At least there was entertainment.

Cousin Melanie, 10, always lorded her two extra years or seniority over me, and that day was no exception. Her mother and mine (sisters, Mom was older, and not as pretty or delicate as Emily) were always in competition, so it kind of slid down into the next generation. Melanie's dress was prettier and much more expensive, since her family was richer than mine. They lived in the cushier town of Syosset, while we resided in the more middle class Levittown.

I remember getting so angry at my brother for being the center of attention that day, I smacked his back with my soaking wet hands--after he'd put on his dress shirt. There was yelling and screeching from Steve, Mom and me, but everyone was under pressure that day.

I don't remember the bar mitzvah at all, but Steve was a brilliant kid and I'm sure it was perfect. I barely remember the reception, except that I ate too much and went home with a serious stomach ache. I do remember overhearing that Steve had collected over a thousand dollars in gifts, which, in 1961, was one hell of a lot of cash. I was very, very jealous.

I'm taking Monday off to honor Yom Kippur. This is our big holiday, the Day of Repentance, when we're supposed to fast, stay in temple all day and be cleansed of all our sins.

This is what religion means to me: I used to be forced to go to temple with my orthodox grandparents in Brooklyn. The temple was stiflingly hot, the ceremony was completely in Hebrew and I was bored, uncomfortable and wanted desperately to LEAVE! I had to sit there, fidgeting and sighing, not comprehending what it was all about. When I was older, Mom sent me to Jewish cultural school. I liked that better; with other Jewish kids, I learned about Chanukah, Passover and other holidays, sang songs about them, spun a dreidle, ate chocolate coins, spoke Yiddish, danced the Hora. At least I got to learn the whys of the Jewish religion, and in enjoyable ways. But I was told that, in our family, it wasn't necessary for girls to be Bat Mitzvah'd, so there would be no big cash presents for me! (And yet, years later, my cousin's two girls both went through the ceremony--go figure.)

Some might say I'm being hypocritical for taking Monday off when I have no intention of going to temple or being absolved of my sins. Well, my son has Monday off from school and I'd like to take him to lunch. Also, I admit, I would enjoy a three day weekend. My mother used to insist I take off Yom Kippur, no matter where I worked. "But Mom, I don't celebrate it," I protested. "That's not the point," she said, "you have to show others that you respect your religion by not coming in to work."

So, I do as Mom says. I understand what she meant. Now you know what I mean by saying I'm Jewish, but not very good at it.

Maybe George Constanza's father had it right when he celebrated Festivus?

Serenity now!!

Love, Robin

I was in fourth grade. My teacher tossed me a manilla folder containing a report I'd done. I barely caught it, snatching it in mid air with tremendous difficulty. "Great catch!" she praised.

Hard catch, I remember thinking to myself proudly. Almost impossible.

That incident taught me something I've never forgotten: Accomplishing something difficult is very gratifying--because it IS so very hard to accomplish.

Love, Robin

Steve is coming in tonight, and he invited me to meet him at a local diner for dinner. I haven't seen him in a long time, and I really miss him. Dan will be joining us after work. Brad can't make it because it's Back to School Night, unfortunately, and he barely has time to breathe, he's so caught up in all that entails.

I'm also somewhat pissed at Steve. A few weeks ago, he sent out an e-mail stating that HE had moved--no mention of Pat, his wife. Also, I had no idea there was any move even being contemplated, and I mourned the loss of their large, gorgeous home in Ballston Lakes, where Spock, our crazy toy poodle we'd adopted out to Steve, was buried.

Mainly, I was worried that ONLY Steve had moved, and that he and Pat had split up.

I know, this was all a story concocted in my writer's fertile mind, what Pat would call "conjuring," but damn, when I e-mailed Steve for more info and he tersely wrote back, "Ask Pat," the evidence seemed piled high on the side of their having split up, and I was very worried. How could he do anything so stupid as to push that fantastic, amazing woman out of his life?

I wrote Steve back, asking HIM, my BROTHER, to please tell me more about this move, not to refer me to Pat. I got no answer at their Ballston Lake phone or Steve's cell. I was so worried, I even called my Westbury cousins to find out if THEY knew anymore than I did. By the time Cousin Don called me back, I had already found out that BOTH Steve and Pat had moved to a smaller home (the latter's dream house) and the reason I hadn't been able to reach either of them was because they'd been vacationing in Kentucky and Massachusetts.

Don urged me to go to Landmark Education, a weekend seminar that used to be called EST. I gather it's for people who allow the craziness in their past to affect their present behavior and teaches you how to stop doing that. He's very big on it and encouraged both of his daughters to do it. My brother has done it, too. Frankly, it sounds like a bunch of shit to me. I yam what I yam, to quote Popeye, and no seminar is going to turn me into anything different! Maybe I did jump to the wrong conclusion, but really, adding up the clues I had, I honestly believe anyone else would have done the same!

All this aside, thank God Steve and Pat are happy and doing well. She's working at a different senior citizens home, her son has his own apartment, she and Steve are going to be grandparents again, and the house is exactly what and where they want.

I'm thrilled to be seeing my big brother again and really looking forward to talking with him.

Love, Robin

Saturday, it rained. I was annoyed when I awakened to cloudy, ugly skies. I slept late, for me, which I hate, because it makes me feel like I'm wasting the day. After eating our usual breakfast at Old Country Buffet, then going to the gym, I was so exhausted, I couldn't keep my head up. Bugsy, Snaps and I took a long nap, so I slept my afternoon away, too! Why am I so fucking tired? This is really getting out of hand!

I napped yesterday, too, but Dan joined me and the dogs on the bed. I awakened at 3 PM and hit the Spanish grocery store to buy Brad his turkey breast and fruit for all of us for the week. The fruit prices didn't impress me much, but until we get a Super Wal-Mart, I guess they never will.

We went back to Old Country Buffet for dinner. What a disaster! The place was so busy, it was an utter pigsty. The floors were filthy, everything was mixed together in everything else by careless patrons, and Dan said the sights were literally making his stomach churn. We had $4.99 coupons as a result of their screwing up the sweetened and unsweetened ice tea last weekend, but Dan was very close to never going back to OCB. I told him we should stick to the less-crowded brunch; they're too busy replenishing the food to pay much attention to cleaning up after the pigs eating it.

Sidney and Doris, my in-laws, were in a car accident last week, nothing serious, but the other driver has $3,000 worth of damage. The details aren't important, but it was Sid's fault. Truth is, this 84 year old, very proud man shouldn't be driving anymore, but how do you tell HIM that? How do you force the keys from his hand, and how do you tell him he can't take him and Doris to their doctors anymore? Dan was so worried, he called Karen, his sister, and he hasn't voluntarily spoken to her in a long time. She has apparently told her father he should stop driving many, many times, but he's ignored her. Even Doris is afraid to drive with him now! Even if they have to hire someone to drive them, this has to stop! Sid hates asking anyone for help, but what's finally going to make him admit he needs it? Does he have to kill a child? Doris? Himself? His damn pride is going to get them both killed!

Does worrying ever end? With death? I was hoping I wouldn't have to wait till then!

Love, Robin

My son's girlfriend is home for the Jewish holidays. She came over last night, and, as usual, Brad and I had to shoo Bugsy and Snaps outside in the backyard before she came in. They barked like crazy out there because they wanted to see her, perhaps attack her, but they did NOT want to be relegated to the backyard while someone was in THEIR house going upstairs with THEIR Brad! I hugged her and wished her Happy New (Jewish) Year. She and Brad ran upstairs and I couldn't wait until I was able to let the dogs back in. I don't want to piss off our neighbors!

And yes, I wished, as I always do, that Brad had fallen for a girl who loves animals as much as the rest of my family does, instead of this girl who fears them only because her mother does. I know, it's stupid and irrational, and I should want only for my son to be happy, and if Ali makes him happy, which she apparently does, I should be ecstatic.

Whatever. I'm trying as hard as I can, but thus far, I haven't found much, personally, to like about this girl. I believe my son will one day marry her, so it's imperative that I accept her as my future daughter in law (her parents have already accepted Brad as their son in law, especially since they allowed Ali and Brad to share a bed when they took them to Vegas). But to me, a person who doesn't love dogs is missing something urgent, important, vital.

Sigh.

Damn.

I'm going to Sharon's tonight. We'll have dinner out somewhere, then go to the beach, walk, laugh and talk. I could use some of that. Sharon gets me, understands how I feel about a lot of things, including Ali.

On the way home from work, I'm stopping at the gym for some strenuous exercise. I've cheated, dietwise, this week, quite a lot. I don't want to go into detail, but I've been a baaaaad girl. Back on track today, I promise. Soup and salad for lunch, oatmeal for breakfast. A light dinner with Sharon--it's easy with her on Weight Watcher's, because I'll feel obligated to keep on the same track.

Exercise is great, but I'll only shed pounds if I watch my food intake, too, and that means minimal cheating. MINIMAL, Robin!!!

I'm so sleepy. This whole week, I've felt like I could put my head on my arms on my desk and just drift right off into a deep, solid sleep. What's wrong with me? Is it the change to cooler weather? You'd think that would ennervate me. New TV shows are on, and I'm very excited about that, DVRing and taping competing shows like the TV loving fool I am. Yet I'm nearly falling asleep watching--FIRST RUN TV programs!

I really must get my thyroid checked!

Stay awake, gang!

Love, Robin