My grandchildren think it's hilarious that Nana has a "real" ladies' fainting couch, and they love to bring their friends to see it. Actually, mine is a 1920's replica of a type of furniture that became popular in the 19th Century.

This was a time when women's corsets had whalebone and everyday gowns were extremely constricting. (Think Scarlett O'Hara having her dress laced tighter and tighter.) The idea was to have an hourglass figure with an extremely tiny waist. And the result was, indeed, that some ladies were prone to fainting. Hence the expression, "having the vapors." It wasn't that our 19th Century foremothers had excessively delicate sensibilities. It was that they couldn't breathe! Thank goodness the 20th Century brought not only women's suffrage, but liberation from the corset and the stiff, unwieldy garments with their bustles and layers of petticoats!
And lest you wonder why women would have put up with such unhealthful wardrobe dictates, they had little option. Any woman with pretensions to being fashionable, or merely not to be considered eccentric, simply had to conform. And really, who are we to judge? Think the gorgeous, excruciating stilettos of today!

These days I can barely manage kitten heels, but I am happy to report that I am not prone to fainting. I do love my ladies' fainting couch, however. It is my favorite place for reading, meditating and the occasional lovely nap. And, of course, for curling up with a grandchild to read or have a quiet talk, which once upon a time would have been called a "long, comfortable cose." Some traditions are well-worth keeping!

This was a time when women's corsets had whalebone and everyday gowns were extremely constricting. (Think Scarlett O'Hara having her dress laced tighter and tighter.) The idea was to have an hourglass figure with an extremely tiny waist. And the result was, indeed, that some ladies were prone to fainting. Hence the expression, "having the vapors." It wasn't that our 19th Century foremothers had excessively delicate sensibilities. It was that they couldn't breathe! Thank goodness the 20th Century brought not only women's suffrage, but liberation from the corset and the stiff, unwieldy garments with their bustles and layers of petticoats!
And lest you wonder why women would have put up with such unhealthful wardrobe dictates, they had little option. Any woman with pretensions to being fashionable, or merely not to be considered eccentric, simply had to conform. And really, who are we to judge? Think the gorgeous, excruciating stilettos of today!

These days I can barely manage kitten heels, but I am happy to report that I am not prone to fainting. I do love my ladies' fainting couch, however. It is my favorite place for reading, meditating and the occasional lovely nap. And, of course, for curling up with a grandchild to read or have a quiet talk, which once upon a time would have been called a "long, comfortable cose." Some traditions are well-worth keeping!

With summer upon us, I am thinking about my favorite set of outdoor furniture. It's the wrought iron table and rocking chairs that sit in our courtyard just outside the kitchen. Many years ago I had the good fortune

to stumble upon an intriguing little shop that sold Mexican imports. It was full of unique outdoor furniture, fountains and flowers. It was lovely to walk through and smelled divine. One day I found a low, round table and child-size rocking chairs to match. I immediately bought the table and two chairs.
At the time I had two grandchildren—a 3  1/2 year old girl (who's now 19), and her baby brother (now 16.) Days later my granddaughter and I sat together at the table, gently rocking in the chairs, which are actually comfortable for adult women as well as kids.
"You know, Nana," she said to me, "one day my brother will be old enough to sit, and there won't be a chair for him. And what if we bring a friend? You really should buy two more chairs."
So I dutifully went and did just that.
A week later my little darling said, "You know, Nana, my mommy might have more children. And we might have cousins. I think two more chairs will fit. You really should buy them."
And so, of course, I did.
Not long after it occurred to me that while a woman could sit in the little chairs, a man certainly could not. And I remembered that there had been a similar adult-sized wrought iron rocker on the other side of the store. So I went back yet again, but the store was gone. And I mean gone, as in razed to the ground, apparently to make way for condos. Oh dear!
I was so grateful that I had listened to my granddaughter and filled up the table with six chairs. I never again found any like them. They were originally a rust color, and my mother spray painted them green to match my other outdoor furniture. And here they have been ever since.
Over the years my husband and I have been blessed with more grandkids, and how many countless hours have I sat with them at this little table? How many art projects have we done? How many Sabbath afternoons have we sat and read and eaten their favorite snacks? Or just sat chatting and watching the palm trees sway? Or watching the more energetic among us play capture the flag or handball?
Every time I look outside at that table, I smile.  And I know that if we ever decide to downsize, this little table and chairs will absolutely be one of my keepers!

to stumble upon an intriguing little shop that sold Mexican imports. It was full of unique outdoor furniture, fountains and flowers. It was lovely to walk through and smelled divine. One day I found a low, round table and child-size rocking chairs to match. I immediately bought the table and two chairs.
At the time I had two grandchildren—a 3  1/2 year old girl (who's now 19), and her baby brother (now 16.) Days later my granddaughter and I sat together at the table, gently rocking in the chairs, which are actually comfortable for adult women as well as kids.
"You know, Nana," she said to me, "one day my brother will be old enough to sit, and there won't be a chair for him. And what if we bring a friend? You really should buy two more chairs."
So I dutifully went and did just that.
A week later my little darling said, "You know, Nana, my mommy might have more children. And we might have cousins. I think two more chairs will fit. You really should buy them."
And so, of course, I did.
Not long after it occurred to me that while a woman could sit in the little chairs, a man certainly could not. And I remembered that there had been a similar adult-sized wrought iron rocker on the other side of the store. So I went back yet again, but the store was gone. And I mean gone, as in razed to the ground, apparently to make way for condos. Oh dear!
I was so grateful that I had listened to my granddaughter and filled up the table with six chairs. I never again found any like them. They were originally a rust color, and my mother spray painted them green to match my other outdoor furniture. And here they have been ever since.
Over the years my husband and I have been blessed with more grandkids, and how many countless hours have I sat with them at this little table? How many art projects have we done? How many Sabbath afternoons have we sat and read and eaten their favorite snacks? Or just sat chatting and watching the palm trees sway? Or watching the more energetic among us play capture the flag or handball?
Every time I look outside at that table, I smile.  And I know that if we ever decide to downsize, this little table and chairs will absolutely be one of my keepers!

January 11th is apparently National Clear Off Your Desk Day. Who knew?
When I think about desk-clearing, I immediately think of the creative process, and how idiosyncratic it is for each individual. I know people who cannot stand a clear, empty desk.

It's as if they find it too sterile, that it somehow paralyzes their thought processes. I've known other very creative types who need to see everything in front of them. Their work surfaces may look disorganized to outsiders, but they know exactly where everything is and what needs to be done. Woe betide the misguided organizer who dares lay a hand on the piles!
And then there are those, like me, who love to start the day with a clear work surface. Whether I am writing or doing artwork, the early morning hours are the most important for my creative process. I must walk into a serene study, light my candle, put on soft meditative music, and begin working. G-d willing, if I am productive, I will fill the desk and every available surface in my tiny study with words and drawings before the day is done. And then I will scan, send, file, sort and put it all away in my armoire before calling it a night. The next morning it all comes out again, but for me the ritual is soothing and helps draw me back into my creative realm.
As I said, everyone works differently. But context also matters. Ask me about how I organize my shoes. Ah well, that's another story entirely, and I've needed my youngest granddaughters to help me! Stay tuned...

It's as if they find it too sterile, that it somehow paralyzes their thought processes. I've known other very creative types who need to see everything in front of them. Their work surfaces may look disorganized to outsiders, but they know exactly where everything is and what needs to be done. Woe betide the misguided organizer who dares lay a hand on the piles!
And then there are those, like me, who love to start the day with a clear work surface. Whether I am writing or doing artwork, the early morning hours are the most important for my creative process. I must walk into a serene study, light my candle, put on soft meditative music, and begin working. G-d willing, if I am productive, I will fill the desk and every available surface in my tiny study with words and drawings before the day is done. And then I will scan, send, file, sort and put it all away in my armoire before calling it a night. The next morning it all comes out again, but for me the ritual is soothing and helps draw me back into my creative realm.
As I said, everyone works differently. But context also matters. Ask me about how I organize my shoes. Ah well, that's another story entirely, and I've needed my youngest granddaughters to help me! Stay tuned...