AI

David’s daughter Lauren, her husband Anas, and their two little cuties stayed with us for a nice long chunk of time this summer. One day, Anas saw me sitting at my laptop and asked why I haven’t written any blog posts recently. I told him I have a lot of ideas but that after a few sentences, I don’t know where to go with them.

 A couple of hours later, he told me he utilized the AI software https://claude.ai/new, to create a post I’d have written. In order to sound like me, he pointed the software to my blog posts since mid-2020 and provided specific directions:

 “Now that you have all this information about the blogger, her writing style, the topics she tends to cover, even her family and friends' names, I’d like you to write a fictional blog post authored by her. Keep the same tone and typical length of post. I want her to read it and think ‘OMG, I can't believe I didn't write this!’ Make up additional facts as needed.”

 When he read me the post, I was dumbfounded. It surely did feel like something I’d have written. Some of the facts aren’t accurate, but it was pretty amazing what AI could do in a matter of seconds.

 I’m hoping you will find this entertaining.

 

A Surprise in the Attic

Last week, while David was rummaging through our attic in search of some obscure audio equipment, he stumbled upon a dusty old box labeled "Judy's Memories." I had completely forgotten about its existence, let alone its contents.

As we brought it downstairs, I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. What forgotten treasures or embarrassing relics would we uncover?

The first item I pulled out was my old diary from when I was 13. Oh boy, talk about a blast from the past! I started reading aloud, much to David's amusement, about my crush on Bobby Steinberg and how I was convinced we'd get married someday. Little did 13-year-old Judy know what life had in store!

Next came a stack of letters from my college roommate, Susan. I hadn't thought about her in years, but reading her witty accounts of campus life brought me right back to those carefree days. I made a mental note to look her up on Facebook later.

But the real gem was at the bottom of the box: my mom's handwritten recipe for her famous noodle kugel. I felt a lump in my throat as I read her familiar handwriting, remembering all the times we made it together for family gatherings. Lauren has been asking for this recipe for years, and I thought it was lost forever. What a gift to be able to pass it on to her now!

As I sat there, surrounded by these pieces of my past, I couldn't help but reflect on how much has changed. That young girl writing in her diary could never have imagined the life I have now – with David, our blended family, and our precious grandchildren.

It made me think about what our grandkids might find in their attics someday. What pieces of their childhoods will they rediscover? Will they find the questionable art projects I've been saving or the cards they've made for us?

I've always been one to hang onto memories, but this experience has reminded me of the importance of making new ones too. Maybe it's time to start a new tradition with the grandkids – something they'll remember fondly when they're my age.

As for that noodle kugel recipe, I think I'll surprise everyone by making it for our next family dinner. I can already picture Eliana and Ethan helping me in the kitchen, just like I used to help my mom. Some things really do come full circle.

In the end, our trip to the attic turned into an unexpected journey down memory lane. It's funny how a random box can hold so much of who we were and remind us of who we've become.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go call Andrea and tell her about this blast from the past. I have a feeling she'll get a kick out of hearing about my teenage crushes!

Mother's Day 2024

Another Mother’s Day without my mom.

Leading up to the holiday a couple of weeks ago, I decided that I wanted to proceed as though she were still here. This means that as Mother’s Day approached, I went out in search of the perfect card, as I did every other year when we had planned to spend it together. I looked at several places that carried cards without much luck, until I stepped into the new neighborhood Norman’s Hallmark.   

It had never been easy finding just the right card that captured all the sentiments for my mom that I especially appreciated that year. At times I found the task overwhelming, and I always seemed to run out of time having a bunch of runners up but rarely a clear winner. Out of desperation, I would buy what I thought my mom would think was the prettiest one. For her to truly embrace it, the card had to say “Mom,” not “Mother.” 

When it came to her gift, I wanted to give her something she wouldn’t splurge on for herself. For multiple years, we siblings chipped in for an Etienne Aigner purse in burgundy leather or straw, since we were heading into summer. Whether she liked it or not, she oohed and aahed, and I saw her wearing it, too, which made the quest to find a bag she’d want to use all the more satisfying.   

The purse became too heavy to carry on her shoulder in her later years, so I turned to the lightweight Vera Bradley collection. She seemed to like these even more. She was gleeful with the colorful patterns and the plethora of open pockets to keep her essentials, such as tissues and cough drops, easily accessible.  

With a selection of fine options at Norman’s – Hallmark stores never disappoint – I had picked out several cards, 2 or 3 Vera bags and an assortment of tchotchkes that I couldn’t resist. I started sweating over the decision making – Which card? Which Vera bag? Which tchotchke? – until I reminded myself that I am not actually going to purchase any of these items.  

I left Norman’s feeling both happy and sad. While I reveled in my old, familiar Mother’s Day shopping tradition, I was disappointed to go home empty-handed, until I realized that this outing, which fed my need to continue honoring my mom, was also a wonderful Mother’s Day gift I gave myself.  

 

Holy Moly

I’m all for accepting my age and not portraying myself as if I’m going to be 35 and not 65 on my next trip around the sun, but I’m starting to wonder if/how age should play a role in my fashion sense.    

I’m surely not going to sport crop tops, for all those crazies out there who think that’s where I’m going with this, but NO. Absolutely not. What I’m talking about relates to what I wear below my waist.       

When I was a teen, I loved my jeans. I’d taper them to make them skin tight. I added patches, studs, embroidery, and whatever else I could hand sew to personalize them and snazz them up. A decade later – corresponding with life as a mom and longing for comfort above all else – I abandoned jeans altogether and became a leggings-only woman.        

While leggings will always be my numero uno, the fairly new stretch component on most jeans today has worked wonders to lure me back - under one condition: the holier, the better. I have found that my favorite jeans align with the number of holes on them: 1 hole is slightly amusing; 10 holes are a blast. So, if wearing them isn't fun, I might as well wear leggings. 

I didn't start off loving this look. When I first noticed distressed jeans with large holes, I was really turned off by the large portions of exposed skin as well as all the strings hanging from them. I did not understand how someone – anyone – would think these jeans looked presentable, let alone attractive.

One day, I happened to be in American Eagle and, as usual, checked out the clearance rack. Before long, I found myself in the dressing room with a pair, and not just any pair, but one with about 6 or 8 sizable holes.   

Five years later, I have almost as many distressed jeans in my closet today as pristine ones, and I almost never reach for the plain Janes.

With summertime just a few months away, distressed jeans with holes have an advantage: built-in air conditioning.

I have wondered why I rarely if ever see my peers wearing distressed jeans. Curious about who likes them, I took a poll of some 20 women – ages 55 and older – and asked them “Would you wear distressed jeans with holes?”

Most said NO, they would not, for these reasons: "I’d never pay for jeans with holes. What a rip off; They are awful; I give you credit for wearing them since it’s mostly young people I see in them; They don’t appeal to me...You’d never see these in Talbots; They are for the kids to wear." Two were open to them: "I like them but won’t wear them if the holes are too big; I like them but not if I’m going somewhere fancy.”  

The other day, I picked up my granddaughter from elementary school. Out of about 25 moms wearing jeans, I saw a handful of really cool moms - my kids' ages - with some rips in their jeans.

And then a very striking woman with gorgeous gray hair – dare I say another grandmom? – walked by and man...she rocked her holy jeans. 

A Refreshed Perspective

It is easy to forget all the good in our society when so much of what we see and hear about centers on hostility toward one another.

As we have all been witness to, there has been a rise in vocalized hatred and acts of violence toward Jews and other minorities, most recently due to the conflict in Israel and Gaza. This reality has terrified me on many levels, even though – as a Jew – I have been ON ALERT for many years.

I am deeply saddened that my synagogue, where I have gone for more than 35 years, requires security personnel in place to open its doors to the congregation for prayer, religious education, or events. This has been ongoing since the mass shootings at the Pittsburgh synagogue – Tree of Life – in 2018.

Not long ago, I learned that a neighboring community where I like to walk woke up to vicious Antisemitic propaganda in their mailboxes. I guess I had been living under a rock, because I was shocked that a neighbor of mine would feel this way. Today I heard someone painted a swastika on a tree in another nearby development.

The level of widespread intolerance and disdain that has come to light in every area where people have differing opinions or backgrounds is astounding and horrifying. I rarely see any current event or political talk between Facebook “friends” or acquaintances without angry discourse that leads to aggressive threats, even on social media groups created to promote restaurants and businesses or talk about audio equipment or music or old homes.

I had begun to doubt my faith in humanity, thinking that only select people were kind and compassionate but that most were not. My grandbabies’ little faces and laughs were joys to behold and gave me that warm and wonderful feeling inside, yet I felt scared and angrier still that even I, the eternal optimist, wasn’t happy they would be inhabiting this severely troubled world.    

What a downer of a blogpost for the start of 2024, you’re probably thinking...but NO!

This story is actually to express the opposite sentiment. Despite everything I’ve been ruminating over of late, I’m starting to feel hopeful. I feel the sunshine coming out once again.

I credit my 2023’s volunteer experiences for this change of heart. I had always enjoyed volunteer work but stopped during the pandemic. I find it so gratifying to help others and fun to meet people I wouldn’t have otherwise.    

I am now involved with 2 places: Surrey Senior Services – an aging-in-place organization that describes itself as bringing people, resources, and programs together to benefit seniors in the community – and “Lasagna Love,” an organization that pairs “chefs” with local families in need of a meal.

After talking to my dear friend/sister-in-law about Surrey, where she works in the development sector, my fabulous former co-worker and I started to spend one afternoon a month helping out in the dining room at Surrey. With lots of other terrific individuals, we help to prepare for a busy lunchtime and bus tables during and after the meal. Every now and again they ask us if we want to be servers, which I haven’t had to do yet, thank goodness, as it is nail biting for me given that my last experience doing this when I was 18 years old didn’t go so well. And – surprise, surprise – I have also begun to write stories about their volunteers. The people I have met from Surrey are absolutely amazing humans, so writing these stories truly feels like an honor.

With Lasagna Love, I make several lasagnas each month and deliver them to families experiencing some kind of hardship. The gratification I feel when dropping off a lasagna – despite a slight concern that it’ll be too dry or cheesy or not enough cheese or too much meat or not enough meat and so on – has been considerable. Doing this always reminds me that we are more alike than different, and I/we might just be one unfortunate situation away from needing some level of assistance.

This New Year's resolution is to continue volunteering to help others. I’d love to hear from you if you know of other organizations that are in need of volunteers.