I have some serious issues with the Binding of Isaac.

I have some serious issues with the story of the Binding of Isaac.

Throughout his life, God continually tested Abraham and I’ve always thought he failed this test. After all, he argued with God about the destruction of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, you’d think he could have come up some argument to at least try to save his own son. Since my Orthodox teachers say Isaac was 37 when he walked up Mount Moriah, I think he was the one who passed the test. Abraham was over a 100 years old at this point. Isaac was younger and stronger than his father, he could have gotten away. But he chose to honor his father, to honor God by allowing himself to be bound on that altar. Some stories say he even demanded to be bound so that he would not flinch away when he saw the knife descending and thus ruin the perfection of the sacrifice.

Discussing this with a Rabbi I know he told me I was wrong, that I didn’t understand what the test was.

Me: “Kill your son?” No. “Do whatever God tells you to do without question?” No.

Rabbi: “Consider… what is the most important thing Abraham would have lost if he had sacrificed Isaac?”

Me: “Ummm…” Not my most impressive response.

Later I spend some time trying to figure that out, by imagining myself into Abraham.

The presence of God says: “Sacrifice your son, your only son, the one you love.”

Confused, Abraham finally stammers: “What?”

But God is already gone.

Abraham plops down in the desert, frowning, thinking: What just happened? Surely, the God I have loved and worshipped all these years wouldn’t command me to kill Isaac. Surely I must be mistaken! He promised me that Isaac would carry on my name, my work; that, through him, my offspring would be as numerous as the stars!

Kill him? Surely not. I must have misunderstood. He’s always told me He didn’t want human sacrifice and I’ve taught that to everyone.

Sarah, my beloved Sarah, will never forgive me!

And what of my followers? They will all think that I’m a hypocrite, a liar, a charlatan! That I’ve misled them - for some nefarious purposes of my own. My followers will all desert me. Sarah will leave me. I’ll be completely alone!

And will they be wrong?

I’ve told people for a hundred years that the one God of the Universe doesn’t require or want human sacrifices. I meant it, didn’t I? It’s true, isn’t it? Or have I been deluded all these years, not truly understanding Him.

Or maybe He was indeed communicating with me, but I misunderstood what He revealed. After all, I am not one who sees God face to face. Do I truly know what he wants of us – of me?

He wants me to kill my son.

He wants me to kill my son.

He wants me to kill my son.

No matter how he says it, or how many times he says it, Abraham has trouble bringing himself to believe it.

Killing anyone is morally wrong. How can it possibly be right to kill my beautiful boy, my wonderful boy. Flesh of my flesh. Whom I love beyond all things. My Isaac?

But… God did command me. I am certain He did. Why would He do that? Why would he do that to me? Haven’t I served him long and faithfully? Haven’t I done all I was asked to do? Left my home and my family.  Travelled through hostile lands. Risked my wife’s virtue, even her life. And my own, for that matter.

I already turned out one son at God’s word. How can He ask this of me? How can He? Isaac is innocent… a good man… He loves God!

An old man, crouching in the desert, weeping, alone.

Standing finally, staring up at the sky. Softly, so softly: All I can know is that You are. And I am certain You did command me. I’d like to think there must be a good reason, but I don’t know what it is.  Perhaps it is something I can’t know.

Abraham, wiping tears from his eyes, walks slowly back toward his tents. And after stopping for a look at his sleeping wife and son, he begins to prepare the items he will need for the trip he will begin in the morning. The task will not be easier if he puts it off.

It will be a long sleepless night. Perhaps for the first time since Isaac was a baby, Abraham sits and watches him sleeping.

I will lose my reputation. My life’s work.

But You are God and you commanded it.

I will lose my wife. My descendants.

But You are God and you commanded it.

I will lose my son. My only son. The one that I love.

But You are God and you commanded it.

Who am I to ask You to spare me this?

If the test was the question “Are you willing to lose everything you value because I commanded it?” And the knife at Isaac’s throat was the answer, then perhaps Abraham did pass.

But I have to say, I am still not entirely convinced. God took everything from Job, and he cried out at the injustice of it. Why didn’t Abraham? 

I'm not going to let my passport expire

Everyone, well... at lot of people, and a lot of people in various religious communities, are writing about the election, so probably I shouldn't. But, never being one to allow rules or logic to stop me, I'm going to anyway.

Yesterday at work I was a mess. I came home last night and locked myself in, and couldn't make myself go out again for any reason. I had cereal for dinner because that is all I had in the house. I wasn't even willing to go to the grocery store, and it's downstairs. I turned off a show I usually like because they were doing an episode about computer hackers taking over an election. It made my stomach hurt.

Sometimes something happens that is not quite a miracle, but it is the exact right thing at the exact right time that lets you know God is peeking out from behind the curtain (like the Wizard in the Emerald City) and pushing something in front of you that you ought to pay attention to. I had one of those Divine Coincidences happen to me today.

I was looking for some comfort music to go along with my comfort food of choice, today chocolate. I listened to every version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" I could find, and there are a lot of them. Then I moved on to Mahalia Jackson, Joshua Nelson, and Debbie Friedman. Finally I randomly stumbled across a song from the Color Purple soundtrack, "Maybe God is Trying to Tell You Something (Speak Lord)".

I listened to it a couple of times. And in addition to helping me get through the day, it occurred to me that maybe God was trying to tell me something.

You probably already know this, but the popular vote in the election was split almost exactly 50/50 with Hillary Clinton actually getting a few hundred thousand more, 59,938,290 votes to Donald Trump's 59,704,886. Neither candidate got more than 50 percent of the vote: As of noon Wednesday, Clinton stood at 47.7 percent and Trump at 47.5 percent. (http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/11/09/501393501/shades-of-2000-clinton-surpasses-trump-in-popular-vote-tally) Hillary Clinton will become the fifth U.S. presidential candidate to win the popular vote but lose the election.

So far, my favorite thing written about all this is Michael Moore’s “Morning After To-Do List” Facebook Post For Democrats. He's a strange man, but that doesn't mean he's wrong. And seeing someone address the situation with humor let some of the tension in me loosen up a bit. And goodness knows, I needed that.

Here's the thing I realized: No matter who won, approximately 50% of the people were going to be pissed. And I'll be honest with you, I'd rather it was Hillary's half since I don't think they're as well armed. That's just my opinion and I have been wrong about such things... from time to time.

But just knowing that 50% of the people didn't vote to have me (and a lot of other folks) killed (or some other Really Bad Thing) gave me at least a glimmer of hope. I think that is the something that God was trying to tell me. So I'm going to blow on that little, tiny glimmer however I can and trust it will be a spark that will someday turn into a roaring fire of sanity.

I actually went out to services tonight to pray for that. I'm going to put my faith in the Divine: that God will let me know when it is no longer safe to stay in my home country. I will hope and pray that that realization never comes to me. 

But since God helps those who help themselves, I'm also going to keep my eye on the cheese. And stuff a few dollars under the mattress and not let my passport expire.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Some random articles:

Not at all religious:
http://thebloggess.com/2016/11/08/its-going-to-be-okay/

But a good read in its own way and it includes this comment: “For those who could use some support, text 741741. Free, confidential, anonymous. There may be some slower response times than the usual < 5 minutes, but crisis counselors are doing an amazing job responding to such a huge influx. LGBTQ, people of color, assault survivors, differently abled, other religions – ANYONE feeling overwhelmed about what this means for you? Feeling alone, anxious, maybe even in despair? There is help. Sending you love. Just in case anyone reading this needs help tonight or another night.”

Religious:

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/storiedtheology/2016/11/09/failures-of-love/

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/dogmadebate/2016/11/congratulations-america/

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2016/11/we-dont-have-time-for-blame.html

At Least You are Not in Jail

"Well ...at least you are not in jail."

That's the way my mother summed up my life many years ago.

The unspoken part was: You're a failure. These words have continued to rattle around in my head through the years.

I'm not rich or famous. My mother didn't really care about those things. She did care that I didn't become a doctor or a lawyer. I didn't marry one either. I didn't have children (at least not of my body and my mother didn’t understand any other kind.)  I knew those things were my mother's dreams. I don't think it ever crossed her mind that they might not be mine. 

But, even so, is that the best that she could have said about my life?

When I was a kid, I read almost all the books in the children's section of the library. It was across the street from the University of Southern California. It was a good sized library.

I'll be 70 at the end of this year. I've supported myself since I was 19 years old. At the time that I left home, leaving home was a life decision. And except for three months when I was saving up for a car, after my VW bug lost its transmission, I never went back.

At one point I created a random goal for myself to make $100,000 a year, and I did get a contract for that amount. Due to me breaking one of the cardinal rules of my life "never work for crazy people," I never actually got the money but I had the amount as my salary on paper.

Contract aside, I've never had a huge amount of money. But I've shared what I had by giving to charity, and where I couldn't give money, I've given my time.

I've organized others to take food, and have taken food myself, to a women's homeless shelter for the last ten years. I'm currently running a project to make quilts for all the beds in that same shelter.

A group I am in wanted to donate 150 blankets to the shelter and I was the one they contacted to get it done. That happens a lot when someone wants to donate something, they contact me.

And this will be the third year I'll be organizing and helping to serve brunch for 300 at a homeless shelter for men on December 25th.

I've driven across the US by myself three times. I've gone to England, Scotland and the Continent. I've lived in Texas, California, Colorado, Virginia, Pennsylvania and Maryland. I owned two houses in Colorado, and one (the dream house that got away) in Virginia.

Despite my longstanding hatred of exercise, I've participated in three 5K races in the last few years. I staggered in hot, sweaty and dead last in one of them, but I finished. And I've volunteered my time to the club that runs the races enough that folks at races know who I am.

I've had two articles published online, and three in print. Most were not anything amazing, but one was. It was published on a huge Jewish website this past year and it was one of the high points of my life.

I was part of an international medieval reenactment group (the Society for Creative Anachronism - the SCA) for 17 years. I was an officer at the city, state and multi-state level and I received their highest award for organization and service. Another high point for me.

And my “kids” are folks I helped get their start in the SCA. Like lots of children, they outdid they parent by leaps and bounds. I couldn’t be more proud of them if they were the children of my body.

I taught myself about relational databases, HTML coding, CSS and WordPress. I am a power user of Excel, and I taught myself QuickBooks. I also taught myself to read business Spanish. I created a functioning 24/7 call center in an empty room. I built a couple of computers just to see if I could.

I had my fair share of lovers; and even better had, and have, some smart, talented, truly amazing people that I am proud to say were and are my friends. I had a decade long relationship with a man who is absolutely one of the nicest people I have ever met. I am happy to say he still likes me, in spite of the fact that the reason we are not together anymore is all on me. For that matter, I am proud to say I am friends with his current wife.

I lived through all the alcohol and noxious chemicals I put into my body in my 20s and 30s, and through a combination of not being genetically predisposed to addiction and the ability to "just say no" to some things, I walked away from all of it when I decided to do so. (Well... except for white wine and margaritas now and again.)

I put myself through college. I had some good years while there when I was as skinny as I ever was in my life. I looked pretty darned good. I was also a great stage manager, and got to work on several major college productions. I was accepted into graduate school, though I didn't end up going.

I also had a few terribly bad years right after college when I somehow lived through the serious effort I made to end my life. I still don't know how, but it felt as if I walked through a door and once I got to the other side, I’m glad to say that killing myself stopped looking easier than living.

I studied with three rabbis before I found one that I clicked with, and it was five years from the time it crossed my mind to look into Judaism to the time I went to the mikvah to convert. But I stuck with it. I'm proud I'm still learning Torah.

A rabbi I know said everyone is someone’s teacher. Strangely enough, there are a number of Jews of my acquaintance who use me as their authority on matters Jewish. I always think that’s weird, but I do my best for them. I created a Haggadah for some friends whose only Jewish activity is hosting a Passover Seder.

I've spent a good part of my life dealing with things my mother said to me. Somehow no matter how many times someone else has said something that contradicted something she said, what she said is still there and overrides everything else. My relationship with her was the most horrid, the most intense and the most important of my life.

After all these years, I realize that when my mother told me I was a failure, what she meant was that she was a failure. She hadn't been able to make me do what she thought was important: things she hadn't been able to do herself.

When she said those words to me all those years ago, I was stunned. I couldn't respond. But if my mother said that to me now, I could reply. I’d say:

You're wrong. I'm not a failure.

And neither are you.

Flawed Thinking

I am reading this book called "As a Man Thinketh" by James Allen. (Free Book or YouTube) Its premise, as I understand it, is that your circumstances are a reflection of your thoughts. To some extent I can understand this. I understand self sabotage. I understand that if you don't think you deserve to succeed you probably won't. I understand that clearing out the demons of your past will allow you to focus on getting to your future goals.

But I am not sure I am convinced that "good thoughts equal good circumstances and bad thoughts equal bad circumstances" is an immutable law of the Universe.

Mr. Allen wrote:

It has been usual for men to think and to say, "Many men are slaves because one is an oppressor; let us hate the oppressor." Now, however, there is amongst an increasing few a tendency to reverse this judgment, and to say, "One man is an oppressor because many are slaves; let us despise the slaves."

The truth is that oppressor and slave are co-operators in ignorance, and while seeming to afflict each other, are in reality afflicting themselves. A perfect Knowledge perceives the action of law in the weakness of the oppressed and the misapplied power of the oppressor; a perfect Love, seeing the suffering, which both states entail, condemns neither; a perfect Compassion embraces both oppressor and oppressed.

OK. Obviously, I'm black, female, and Jewish; as are the scenarios that flashed through my mind:

• a black person living in Africa during the 17th century, who ended up working in the hell of a sugar plantation in Jamaica, with a life expectancy of 9 years at best.

• a young woman, almost anywhere in the world today unfortunately, abducted, drugged into addiction, tortured into submission and forced into prostitution.

• a Rabbi in Germany during the 2nd World War, suffering in the camp and dying in the gas chambers at Sobibor.

Each of the above with thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of others.

Of course I have no way to know, but what if these people were moral in their thinking before their circumstances changed? What if they even managed moral thoughts afterward?

Or does what happened to them, to all the "thems" it happened to, mean that they were all weak, immoral thinkers?

This is what I am struggling with.

It seems to me that there must be circumstances beyond anyone's control. I am not saying there are not choices a person may have about how they deal with their circumstances, but I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that an ordinary person, going about their lives on an ordinary day, who ends up the next week, enslaved, prostituted, or dead had this happen to them because of their disordered thinking.

The only people I can think of who deserve the fates of the people above, are the ones who did it to them. Despite what Mr. Allen says to the contrary, I have no sympathy for the perpetrators. Perhaps that is a flaw in my thinking.

The book was written in 1902. In England. And near the height of the British Empire. So maybe that is where this type of thinking comes from. As we might say today "first world" thinking. From the rulers. I wonder if those they ruled thought the same things.

I'm not even sure why this bothers me so much. Except that some of the book seems to make sense and some of it seems so fundamentally wrong.

I'm wondering, perhaps hoping, that I'm misunderstanding. 

But right now what I really most want is to stop thinking about this. Maybe my thinking really is flawed.

Blessings & Smoked Salmon

This past Sunday morning, just as I was about to eat a lovely Eggs Benedict made with smoked salmon, I thought to myself how grateful I was that I had gotten up early enough to get to the restaurant while there were still enough open tables that I didn't mind taking up one for a “just one?” as the server always says when I walk in.

But I was a little sad that I couldn't express my gratitude for the food by saying a bracha. For one thing I didn't know what the correct blessing would be. I only know two relative to food, the one over bread and the one over wine. And I'm not sure the one for bread would have been appropriate over an English muffin. What I do know is that which blessing is said when and over what is complicated.

And second, I know you're not supposed to say a bracha over treif food, even if it isn't one of the forbidden foods. As far as I've gotten on the road to keeping kosher is not eating pork, shellfish or meat and milk together (although I have some issues with chicken and milk, that whole cooking a chicken in its mother's milk thing, but that's a post for another time). Still whatever the food is, if it is not cooked in a kosher kitchen, it is still not kosher.

Not being able to say brachas over food has bothered me for awhile, since one of the things that attracted me to Judaism was its built in mnemonics to help me remember to be grateful for the everyday things that it is so easy to take for granted. And goodness knows, I love to eat (if not to cook since it seems to me cooking for one person isn't worth the effort of the clean up) so I have lots of opportunity to be grateful for my food. But since it is usually food from non-kosher restaurants, I can't express it. (I know. I know. Eat in kosher restaurants. I know of two close to where I live, neither of which is especially good, though I eat at one of them anyway because I like the folks who run it.)

I was thinking about all of this as I was enjoying the lemony hollandaise sauce and I decided that even if I couldn't fulfill a commandment there was nothing stopping me from saying some words to express my gratitude.

These are the blessings that I have come up with so far:

“Thank you G-d for... “

...the food and the money to buy it with and tip the server (This wasn't and isn't always true for me.)

...being able to hear the screaming child at the next table (A couple of my friends are having hearing problems and would probably love to be able to hear that child, at least for the first minute or two.)

...getting home without hurting myself or anyone else or damaging any property; and without anyone else damaging me or my property (I've been in a couple of car accidents lately, one that was and one that wasn't my fault. Always happy every time I drive somewhere and nothing happens except I get where I am going.)

...keeping my home safe when I am here and when I am not here (It hasn't happened lately, but several places I've lived have been broken into. The worst part isn't that they take your stuff. The worst part is they take away your sense of security inside your own home.)

I have a long, looong way to go on the road to being more observant. And I know that the letter of the Law matters. I can honestly say I am sincerely working to learn more of the letter of the Law.

But, in the meanwhile, I also think G-d knows my intent – to express gratitude for this amazing world I live in and all the gifts I have been given... which is to say pretty much everything. I think G-d understands and accepts all expressions of gratitude however, and in whatever language, expressed.

And I think that the expression and the intent will help motivate me to learn more.

For this day, this hour, this minute... I think, I truly hope, that's enough.

I need to recharge my emotions

I was talking to my friend about my need to be alone to recharge my emotional batteries. He burst out with “You are such a chaim!” Me: “I'm sorry. What?”

It turns out there is a Jewish personality profile (developed by Rabbi Noah Weinberg z”tl and written about by Lori Palatnik here) that comes as close to describing my personality traits as anything else I've seen. It is based on the personality traits bracha/blessing, tov/good and chaim/life. According to this system, everyone is a mixture of all three, but two are our defaults: one for our souls and one for our bodies.

Reading Lori's article, I can easily see that my friend was right. My soul most takes after Jacob, whose personality inspired chaim. Jacob stayed in his tent, and studied all day. Some of my main drivers are learning and understanding. I am deeply introverted and not very good at relationships or at dealing with arbitrary rules and regulations. (And I think all rules and regulations are arbitrary. What can I say?) I stay home alone as much as I do because I like staying home alone. And you will definitely find me off in a corner in social gatherings, possibly talking with one person when I can stretch myself; or contentedly and quietly watching everyone else interact when I can't.

I'd say my second, soul driver is tov, based on Issac who followed the rules and did what was right. Well, I skipped the part about following the rules and I'm pretty sure I don't always do what is right. But as a tov personality, when I am given a specific project I am highly organized. One of my talents is figuring out the most efficient way to get something done, or to make a system function. And I can put 110% of my concentration and energy into seeing a project through.  On the down side, I have a tendency to say “yes” whenever someone offers me a project, whether I honestly care about it or not, just for the fun of the challenge. These words have gotten me into so much trouble: “I can do that. I can do that... better!” Often I can. Sometimes though, I take on so much the whole pile threatens to come tumbling down.

I think I have the least of the bracha type it is possible to have. A bracha soul (based on Abraham, the man of the heart) is all about being extroverted and loving to be surrounded by people. I hate being surrounded by people! (Though arguably I have a bit of an excuse having spent a week with half a million people once.) Still I am rarely bouncy and outgoing, although I can occasionally fake it with one or two people (certainly not more – horrors!) for short periods of time. And the weird thing is, I like people. Just not everyone and not all the time. But being around people, as I said above, sucks the energy, and eventually the sanity, right out of me. That's why I prefer to go visit my friends rather than have them visit me. When I run down, I can run home... to the comforting quiet.

My body, on the other hand, is about 50/50 chaim and bracha. The chaim part is intuitive and empathic. I am very aware of what other people are feeling and sometimes being surrounded by negative energy, or even too much of any kind of energy, can make me physically ill. On the other hand, much as I hate to admit it, I am, as Lori says in one of her videos, a “lazy, lazy person.”  In the same way I can push myself when I am interested and involved in something, I can put just as much energy, in a manner of speaking, into doing nothing. And I love to sleep. I have just enough tov not to turn into a complete lump on the couch, but sometimes it seems a near thing.

I was surprised at how accurately this system described me. I've taken a couple of personality tests recently, all producing profiles more complicated than this. I can't say they were any better.

I have to remember to thank my friend for calling me a name. (j/k) Because I really am grateful to him. If he hadn't said what he did, I never would have learned all this.

I was in Germany once. It didn't go well.

I was in Frankfurt, Germany once.

I hadn't thought about that trip in years. Until I heard Mrs. Chana Silver speak in synagogue on the Fast of Tisha b'Av. She leads tours of Poland for young women. They see the places where Jews lived and where they died – cities, ghettos, graveyards, and the work and death camps.

I was there forever ago, when I was in my 20s. Long before anything Jewish had touched my life, except I had, for some unknown reason, read Hitler's Mein Kamp. I had gone to London with a backpack, a round trip ticket and $100 in my pocket.

I went with a group of my friends and I knew they had arranged inexpensive or free places for us to stay. So I really only needed money for me to eat. Still $100 wasn't enough money and I knew it. The closest thing to being out of the US I had been at that point in my life was crowding 5 people into one of the original VW Beetles, and road tripping to the California border town - Tiajuna, Mexico. I didn't know when, or if, I would get another chance to go to Europe. I guess I hoped my friends, who were probably every bit as broke as me, wouldn't let me starve, so I shrugged my shoulders and I went. Dumb or ballsy. Nah, definitely dumb.

We were supposed to do a musical play called Viet Rock at the Edinburgh Scotland Theatre Festival Fringe (the part where anyone can show up and do a show). We were young, crazy and running on more hash than food. As well as, how shall I put this delicately, extremely sexually active with interchangeable partners in the group. What can I say? We were California kids, with delusions of being hippies. We were in a foreign country, living and working together 100% of the time. It went about as well as you would expect. In one of the inevitable seismic social shifts, the lead in show ended up being given to a person who was one, convinced she couldn't really sing and two, had crippling stage fright the size of the state of Texas. Yup, that would be me. I lasted about two rehearsals before I melted down and quit after the girl I had replaced complained to everyone that I was off-key. Which, to be fair, I probably was. So at least partly because of me, the group completely imploded at that point and we never did the shows.

We had some time on our hands, so half dozen of us took off for the Continent, with no specific destination in mind. We took a train as far as Frankfort. Then my friends decided to go on to the Black Forest. Because of the cake I think.

I had been getting more and more uncomfortable from the time we crossed the border and I was in a low level state of panic by the time we got off the train. I can't really describe how it felt. It was like I couldn't breathe and I knew I couldn't be there, even though I had no idea why. So I refused to continue to the Black Forest. And they left me. I can't really blame them. I wasn't their responsibility and I had just ruined the reason we had come in the first place. Plus we were at an age, and in a time, when we thought a woman could hitchhike by herself and be safe doing it.

So there I was. By myself. In a country where I didn't know anyone or speak the language. With almost no money. Again dumb on my part or ballsy. No again, definitely dumb. But I can still feel the way I felt then, uncomfortable and short of breath. I had to get out of there.

I took what little money I still had, and went back to the train station. I kept enough for the ferry back to the UK, counted the rest and figured out I could get as far as Luxembourg. Wherever - as long it was out of Germany and in the general direction of “back to the coast”. I breathed a sigh of relief when I crossed the border a couple of hours later. I felt as if something had fallen away.

In a continuation of “let's see how dumb I can be”, I took a ride with an Austrian trucker who bought me some really excellent sausage and bean soup (which I'm sure I couldn't eat now) and later tried to get me into the bed built into the cab of his truck. Who even knew there were beds there? When I politely declined, he dumped me by the side of the road, in the middle of the night, and I ended up sort of sleeping in a field. There were a lot of little animals resenting this human in their field and I could hear them moving around all night. None of them joined me in the sleeping bag, but worrying that they might accounts for the “sort of” slept. I also had a, thankfully, very short visit from four guys who stopped and stared at me from the road. I stared back and they moved on. Perhaps I should say I was dumb and lucky. The next morning I was able to get a ride to Calais.

Later everyone re-grouped in London and we went off to the place where I developed my terror of crowds. A rock festival on the Isle of Wight where I spent a week with half a million people (& heard Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, The Who, poor Kris Kristofferson who got booed off the stage by a rock and roll crowd who had no interest in country, Sly of Sly & the Family Stone, who could barely walk but could still sing, & a long list of other legendary musicians). I also dealt with continual noise and people moving, restrooms that were trenches in the ground, and having the only space I could call my own be the area on the ground my sleeping bag covered. The music was amazing. The rest of it, not so much.

But the really weird thing is, none of the above were the weirdest thing that happened on that trip.

My mother saw my friend's mother hugging her when we were saying good-bye at the airport and she awkwardly hugged me. That is the only time I can remember her hugging me. In my life.

Freaking out in two countries? Hitchhiking by myself? Living with 500,000 people? Nope. That was the weirdest thing that happened.