I thought my head was going to explode today. Micah, Jasmine and I went to the beach and the sun was so hot burning down on me, that I got real red and HOT. After awhile, I went to sit in the car to get out of the sun, turned the a/c on high and just laid back. When we got back to the house, we all jumped into the pool and it felt like my sizzling skin was immediately relieved in the cool pool. It was bizarre! I felt like a chicken roasting on the hot sand and when we jumped into the pool, I could visualize steam rising up from the cool connecting with the hot. Ahhhhhhh....
When I was young, I always sweat under my arms, where most people sweat. When I went through menopause, it seemed I sweat from every gland in my body. Now, after menopause, I sweat only from my head! It's the weirdest thing. A lot of the time, my hair is soaking wet like I just washed it, simply from sweat. It's very embarrassing and inconvenient. Do I have to wear a bandanna every day to catch the little droplets of water emitting from my scalp? I mean, when I was young, all you had to do was to keep your arms down at your side and no one would have a clue what was going on down there. During menopause, everyone expects you to sweat from all areas of your body and so others look pitifully at you with a "I'm so sorry for you dear, but I know how you feel -- I went through it too." But now, why in the world is my head playing tricks on me and spitting out so much water?? How could my head have so much water in it - there's really no room with all the other stuff in there.
And then my hair. Well, it used to fall down to my waist. So much hair comes off on my brush that at this rate, I could be bald before I'm 60. It's thinned out and somehow gotten shorter over time, that eventually I may have to buy a babushka (scarf) and wear that. I can envision myself waddling around with my cane and babushka - just like my great-grandma. Except she only spoke Yiddish and no English. She was a short little woman who wore a wig or a babushka, because back in those days, when an orthodox Jew got married, they shaved their heads and wore a wig the rest of their lives. I have no idea why - that's just what they did. I can imagine how that must have itched - I would have hated it. But I guess when that's all you know, that's what you do without question.
It would have been very strange to live in that era. In my family, the girls stayed home to help in the house and the boys went to school till about 5th grade, then they helped in the fields. My descendants were farmers, blacksmiths and factory workers when they came to the United States. They all entered through Ellis Island, which is a place I want to visit one of these days. My grandmother on my father's side could not read or write and my other grandparents had limited English skills - but they all knew Yiddish. Yiddish is a mixture of languages from several countries, that Jewish people created to connect to one another. It's a funny and very descriptive language that I love to hear and repeat.
My great-grandfather on my father's side had a son who married a gentile (non-Jew) and my great-grandfather disowned him. He actually held shiva (a funeral service) for him and considered him dead. That's really harsh, but the old school tradition was meant to preserve Jewish identity and his son marrying outside of the religious faith meant certain "death" on the "offender's" part. I'm sure that's what my parents were thinking when I came home pregnant, not married and to a black gentile. Except by that time, traditions had changed and my parents weren't orthodox. They raised us in Reform Judaism, which is the most liberal branch of Judaism.
My brothers and I were forced to go to "religious school" which was on the weekends. I hated it so much that I was very disruptive in class and when we had to be in the sanctuary with the rabbi talking/preaching, other kids and I would flip "birdies" to the kids in front of us - just to be disrespectful and obnoxious. My poor mom never could understand why I was so rebellious and angry. I think my dad understood, because I was (and am) much like him, but he never acknowledged it. In fact, I never heard about my dad's colorful past until I was an adult. I guess he didn't want to encourage me any more than I was already acting.
I love history and I love learning about the past. It explains so much about the present and gives us hope for the future. The kind of hope where if you've made a mistake in the past, you can correct it in the future. Tomorrow is always a clean slate that we can change what we want to change, keep what we want to keep and create new paths and pictures of what we want to become or go or be. That's awesome when you think about it. You are the author of your life, and where you choose to go or become is totally up to you. God gives us free will to choose our paths and make our own decisions. But it's the wise person who gives their life back to God and says, "Lead me Lord, for I will follow." Yeah. I'd rather follow the One Who knows, than to wander around aimlessly myself.
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