my son the geek (and I mean that in a GOOD way)

I'm again enscounced in layers of clothing, a down comforter and, best of all, a breakfast-in-bed tray with legs on which my laptop sits. AND Avi has tweaked our network to allow me to print on our one workhorse 5-year-old HP printer right from my perch in bed.

I developed pain in my lower back that was beginning to worry me, no comfy position sitting or standing, when Ginna, who was standing next to me while I sat, gently placed one finger onto my shoulder and it was painful below. Suddenly it dawned on me how and why this pain started: as loving children often do, Heshy draped himself across my shoulders while I was sitting in a chair. He's done this before and I've told him to stop immediately, but this time it was long enough (2 seconds, maybe 3) to cause strain in my lumbar area. I stopped worrying, but couldn't get comfortable at all. Finally when I came home I took pain meds and now it's OK until the meds wear off.

One more thing I need like a frikkin' hole in the head.

This morning at services and the kiddush (wine and cookies at minimum, often a light lunch after services) I felt odd. Usually I don't sit my tush down in the pew very often, preferring to walk around in back or in the halls, or chatting with people far enough away from the sanctuary so as not to disturb the worshipers. Unlike the men who sit in the rear pews on the men's side, who talk continuously, thank you, you know who you are.

Today I sat, except for one trip to the potty. People came over, of course, everyone had sweet things to say about my situation. One friend in particular who only visits these days, his family moved themselves back home to Israel for the eldest child's benefit, well, here's what he said with a single finger touching my cheek and looking directly into my eyes: 'You will be fine, of this I'm sure.' Something about his tone, his manner, his earnestness convinced me that he was right. Not that I have been thinking differently, and maybe it's just because of his Argentinian proper-and-all-that upbringing and sense of propriety, anyway there's no sense in thinking too hard about it, it made me feel good.

The warmth generated between Alaine on my left and Ginna on my right helped me stay warm today. I was wearing, let's see, 3 layers on top beneath my big sweater, two thick layers below, socks and shoes AND a cool new hat. I don't know what else I could have done. Truth be told, it was a blistery, windy cold day and folks kept opening the exterior door (What? you say, what business do they have entering and exiting . . . oh yeah. At least they're there. oops.) and it was hard to avoid the cold. My rabbi made it a point to wait in line to see me (I could live without the notoriety, thank you) to say 'I'm really glad to see you here today.' He's such a mensch (good person).

Our young friend Rebecca, who boasts that her neighborhood shul (synagogue) is the Kotel (so-called Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, the center of the entire Jewish world), has written something lovely about me, I hear from her mom. But I have yet to see this piece, and now that I've heard about it I'd love to see it. Yes, Rebecca, this means YOU should send it to my email address please: judygail@sbcglobal.net. And please let me know if I have your permission to put it on my blog. I miss you, honey. Your family is doing well, especially Izzy.

Avi asked me this afternoon, 'Mom, are you happy right now?' to which I responded, 'Yes, I'm always happy, every day.' I have a wonderful story to tell about a couple I met a few weeks ago.

Mr. and Mrs. Armenians-from-Lebanon, in their 70s, emigrated from Lebanon as younger people and raised their children here. I overheard him saying he was sitting in the reception room of the Nuclear Medicine Department because he was early for one of a series of tests being done before some surgery. Didn't sound scary, I don't know his diagnosis.

This is the same waiting room where the lovely Eva-from-Poland-always-happy receptionist spends her mornings. She and I had been chatting, and Mr. and Mrs. A seemed amenable to conversation, so I opened it up to include them.

The lovely Mrs. A received a compliment from me about her beautiful skin. At 70 she had not one spot of discoloration on her face, not a single wrinkle, and her hair was long and stunningly salt-n-pepper. I told Mr. A that he was a lucky man to be able to look at this pretty woman all the time. As he began to tell me why he never noticed, his life story began to unfold.

They were married in Lebanon, having been raised there in the Armenian community. Their children were born in the US, and he spoke at length about the tsuris (troubles) he had from his two sons. In his plaid slacks and button-down shirt with a knitted vest, his rotundity accommodated by perching on the edge of his seat, he held up a hand and started counting, saying in his heavily-accented-but easily understandable English, 'Number 1 son, this one marries a young European woman. A big rush she's in to get married. She stays with him until the green card arrives, then she demands a divorce. And she never understood that a piece of bread, an olive, some cheese, THIS is a snack. Thank G-d they never had kids, but he's still alone. '

'Number 2 son, even worse. He marries an American girl, again she doesn't want to know from our customs, and they have 3 kids. The wife becomes a drug addict, demands $200 a week to support getting the damned drugs, and when he says no she takes him to court for a divorce and tells the court that he sexually touched his baby, she was 18 months. But the court lady, she knew, she met with the children and that was dropped. Now he lives in an apartment in our basement, and he only gets those kids every other weekend.'

He takes a deep breath, then summarizes for me, 'I don't have nothing good going on in my life, there's nothing to be happy about.'

'What about your wife's food?' I ask. 'I bet she's a great cook, and excuse me, it doesn't look like you've been missing meals.'

'Oh!' his face begins to lighten some, 'my wife is a wonderful cook, yes, when the children come to their daddy they run to her . . .'

Mrs. A chimes in, 'Grandma, Grandma, make me some Lebanese food!' Now they're both smiling.

Making some headway here, I ponder out loud to Eva, 'I bet their house is nice. '

'Oh, yes,' he puffs up, removing his glasses to clean them on a corner of his vest, 'We have been blessed all the years we've been here, we have all we need now, Thanks G-d.'

'And you mentioned having an apt. downstairs where your son lives?'

'Tsk, sad to say he has to live there, and he only sees those poor kids twice a month.'

'But that must mean that both of you get to see them that often, too. '

Deep sigh, 'I love these children,' he says with a look only a grandparent can make.

'But what's the big deal,' he says, 'you seem young and healthy, you talk about your kids, of course you're happy.'

Slowly I turn to Eva and ask, 'Should I tell him?' to which she responds with a crisp nod, clearly enjoying the give and take of the conversation.

'I have breast cancer. The test I'm here to take is going to tell me if I have any chance of a cure. For sure I know I'll be facing chemo, surgery, radiation, and no real way to work during that time. My husband is in the middle of a psychiatric crisis, and his old-maid auntie lives with us in a tiny apartment. No one can work. '

'BUT, sir, I have so many blessings that I count every day, so many people who are dear and close friends, a bunch of incredible children, and every day when I see what G-d has brought to us I feel like it's really for me.'

'I'm sorry,' he said softly, 'I had no idea. You seem so happy and relaxed.'

'OK, sir, please forgive me, but it seems to me that you experience true joy when you see the faces of your three beautiful grandchildren, am I right?'

'Well . . . I have to admit you are right.'

'And when you sit down with your beautiful wife and have a snack of bread, olive and cheese, isn't that pretty great?'

'But you just told me that you didn't have any joy in your life. No reason to consider being happy every day. Only problems which you enjoyed telling me about.'

He's quiet, his face is busy processing all of what I've said. I stay quiet, smiling at him and his wife.

Finally, after a long few seconds of silence, he speaks in a very soft voice with great tenderness, 'Yes, young lady, you are right. I could not see this before, but now I do. I'm glad you talked to me today . . .' and his voice trailed off while he considered our discussion.

Pray for inner peace and joy for all.