High Holy Day Memories

Sitting in Erev Rosh Hashanah services tonight, I started thinking about what I missed about being home this time of year and realized I have quite a few memories related to the High Holy Days. Some are funny… well, actually, most are funny! Without further adieu, I present to you my High Holy Day memories:

• my little brother Greg rushing out of the sanctuary headed for the oneg, weaving his four-foot self in and out of the adults slowly working their way out of the room as my mom tries desperately to get him to stand in line and wait like everyone else
• my dad playing football with all the kids at second day services in the mountains while the service is still in progress and getting reprimanded on the microphone by the rabbi for being too loud
• my mom being invited to read the same passage every year for Yom Kippur morning services; her sitting on the bimah while we waved at her from the congregation; her not waving back but smiling at us; my dad explaining that she cannot wave at us during the service while she is on the bimah
• Greg and I blowing our shofars all over the house for weeks before the High Holy Days
• leaning my head on my mom's shoulder during the never-ending sermon
• whispering with my dad during services and getting a glare from my mom
• my dad offering me food seemingly every five minutes on Yom Kippur when it was already difficult for me to fast as a teenager 
• building forts in the woods with the other kids during second day services in the mountains
• taking breaks from services to hang out and chat in the lounge
• being bewildered by the number of extra chairs set up that extend all the way to the back of the social hall
• being rushed to school after morning services; changing from temple clothes to school clothes in the car
• smiling at my mom every time a certain line was read that she doesn't like

Smokey Cooking

Tonight while cooking dinner, I nearly burned down my apartment building. OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but I definitely feared setting off the fire alarm, which probably would have been just as annoying to my fellow residents as if I burned down the building.

I was cooking spaghetti, as I often do, so I put a chunk of defrosted ground beef in a pan and turned on the burner. Then I filled a pot with water and started cooking the noodles. I wandered off for a moment, checking a text on my phone while I waited for my food to cook.

As usual, the beef began to sizzle. But then, the beef REALLY began to sizzle. I suddenly realized I had turned the burner on high instead of medium and was burning my food. Soon the pan started emitting thick campfire-like smoke, and I quickly turned off the heat and moved the pan to another burner. This did not solve the problem.

With smoke now filling my entire apartment, the thought of setting off the fire alarm was hot on my mind. I grabbed the sizzling, smoking pan and ran out the front door, all the while hoping I would not hear the dreaded blaring sound signaling evacuation. My resident advisor was walking across the grass on the first floor and looked up at where I was standing on the third floor, wondering what the sizzling noise was. I yelled down to her that I was fine and just trying not to set off the fire alarm. She smiled and kept walking.

I stood out there for what seemed like an eternity before the pan finally stopped smoking. When it did, I rushed back inside, put the pan on a cool burner, and opened all the windows in the apartment. Then, I waited.

The smoke eventually cleared, and I was able to return to cooking dinner. About half of the beef was burned, so I threw that part away and continued cooking the un-burned portion. The noodles soon finished cooking, and, with no fire alarm after all, I sat down to enjoy my spaghetti.

The Dog Poop Dilemma

A few nights ago, as I often do when I'm home, I took my dog Scout with me for a run. We run on a paved path that sits parallel to a major street. We usually run 1.5 miles and then turn around and come back.

I bring bags with me whenever I run or walk Scout, and he usually goes within the first five minutes or so. But that night, he waited until we were a good 3/4 mile from the starting point. I bagged up the excrement and set it on the side of the path, planning to pick it up on the way back. We got to our turnaround point, and on the way back, I realized that if I were to pick up the bag I had left, I would have to run with it for 3/4 mile. Being an only marginally good citizen in that instance, I left the bag sitting on the side of the path and finished the run.

The next evening, I took Mali, our older dog, for a walk. I decided to try to find the bag Scout and I left the previous night, so Mali and I walked along the same path. Sure enough, about 3/4 mile in, I saw the bag sitting right where I had left it the previous night! I picked it up and carried it back to our starting point, where I found a trash can and disposed of it. So yes, I left the poop in a bag on the side of the road for 24 hours, but I eventually helped it find its way to the trash.

Mali's Shenanigans

My dog Mali is 12 now. As she declines, I have started taking more videos of the silly things she does that I take for granted, because I want to remember her long after she is gone. Here are two recent ones:

During summer 2011 my parents left me home alone for a week while my brother was at a camp and they were on a vacation just the two of them. During that week, Mali found some weird bugs in the yard at night and ate a ton of them. I figured she wiped out the whole species (at least from our yard) because I hadn't seen them since… until she found another one the other night!

Mali and the Crunchy Bug

Mali loves carrots! Listen closely and you can hear the crunch sound as she chews them up. So cute!

My Goofball Dogs

Tonight I took the dogs outside to go to the bathroom before bed and a funny incident unfolded. Mali, age 12, largely vision impaired and diagnosed with Cushing's, was peeing in the rocks where she always goes. Scout, the 7-year-old, likes to pee on top of Mali's pee, I guess to mask her scent with his. Mali finished peeing and stepped away, and Scout immediately began peeing on the spot where Mali had gone. After Mali uses the facilities, she likes to kick the rocks back to cover up the spot. So while Scout was peeing over the spot where Mali peed, Mali started kicking the rocks, not knowing they were going straight toward Scout! This startled Scout, who bolted away from the scene while I burst out laughing at the whole situation.

Oh My Gosh, You're So Grown Up!

I was browsing Facebook the other day when I came across a new album of pictures posted by URJ Camp Newman where I went to camp for three summers as a kid. Newman is probably the most common Jewish camp for youth from my temple to attend, so it's not unusual for me to see people I know in the camp's brochures and online albums. I was looking at session photos when I noticed a familiar face. However, I was surprised to see this child, whom I had worked with as a third grader when I aided in religious school during high school, in a picture for a session I knew was for middle schoolers. How could it be? The last time I saw this kid he was 9 years old!

I thought back and noted that he was in my class when I was a junior in high school. I am now entering my junior year of college. I realized that this boy is going to be in seventh grade this fall. Seventh grade! When he was in the class I helped teach, he was just learning the Hebrew letters and vowels. Now, sometime during seventh grade, he will stand in front of the entire congregation and celebrate becoming a Bar Mitzvah. Although he has awhile to go before having the rights and responsibilities of an adult in the legal sense, when he turns 13 he will be viewed as an adult in the eyes of the Jewish community. And this is my third grader we're talking about!

When I was younger (and even now, sometimes), people would come up to me and tell me I was so big and so tall and so grown up since the last time they saw me. Half the time I would have no idea who the person talking to me even was because I had been so young the last time we met. The funny thing is, I find myself doing the exact same thing to kids now. It was about eight years ago that I worked in my first class as a religious school aide. It was a kindergarten class, and now the kids are 13 and entering eighth grade! It never occurred to me that this would eventually happen to me, but I guess this is what you get when you work with kids for this many years!

Counting Down the Days

In less than a week, I will hug my parents, brother, and dogs goodbye, get in my car, and drive about 7 hours to Elbert, Colorado, where I will be living for over two months. No, I'm not headed there to take summer classes or to visit family; I'm going to be working at camp.

To some, the thought of spending nine or ten weeks surrounded by young children virtually 24/7 sounds like hell, but personally, I am very excited. I believe everyone has at least one thing they are great at, something that is their true passion in life, and over the past several years, I have realized that mine is working with children. (This is why I recently changed my major to elementary education, something I had been considering for quite awhile.) You see, the task of coaxing twenty 7-year-olds into making a circle doesn't phase me, and I can be asked the same question by the same child ten times in a ten minute period without losing my temper. As my friend said when we were discussing my move to the elementary education major, "Sarah, you are good with kids. Not many people are good with kids, so people who are good with kids should work with kids."

So, while many of my peers will spend their summer answering phones, making copies, and going on daily coffee runs for the office, I'll be running around all day with my cabin of 8-10 girls. Over the course of each day, I'll serve as a surrogate mother, nurse (There are real nurses on site, too!), entertainment director, referee, cheerleader, mentor, team captain, therapist, and tour guide. I'll make sure each camper brushes her teeth and puts on sunscreen in the morning, and I'll be there to mediate when they have an argument with another camper. I'll be the one to clean and put a Band-Aid on a minor cut, and I'll be sitting with them in the nurse's office if they get an injury I am not trained to handle by myself. I'll rock climb and horseback ride right along with them and will teach them lots of new goofy games. I'll wear many hats and will undoubtably be exhausted at the end of each day, but I can't think of a better way to spend a summer than at camp, working with other Jewish young adults and playing with kids all day.