Gail's Blog

You may wonder what a bagel has to do with cultural appropriation. I'm going to explain it. First of all, my Jewish mother, who never put an "s" on the word when it was plural, took us across town to buy "good bagel" when we were young. Not Lenders, the only supermarket bagel at the time, but the real thing. The bagel shop we visited was in the heart of Cedar Center, in Cleveland Hts, part of The East Side. We watched the workers boil the bagel in huge vats of water before baking (the only way to make good bagel). We bought sesame seed, plain, poppy, but NEVER fruit flavored or chocolate! It was unheard of to pollute a nice Jewish bagel with fruits. Onion, maybe. Never fruit. I thought fruit in bagel was barred by kosher law (it wasn't). We would take our treasures home to an almost all Catholic neighborhood on the West Side.  Now, bagels (note the "s") are ubiquitous. I had a manicure, once, from a Thai immigrant who told me she ate "Ame

When Star Wars debuted in Cleveland (Star Wars: A New Hope), My husband and I were in the midst of moving from our delightfully cozy world to a new one. He had been offered a job in Washington, D.C. This was a difficult move for me, as my family was in Cleveland, and I had never lived anywhere else. We had a two bedroom apartment in an old but tony suburb. It was large and spacious, with wood floors and a fireplace. The ceilings were at least ten feet high, and the place was within walking distance to Shaker Square, home of the Shaker Rapid Transit. The Rapid still had its 1930's cars with windows that opened.  It went straight down to the Terminal Tower, now known as Tower City in the heart of downtown Cleveland. We had many friends from the Cleveland Institute of Music, and from Trinity Cathedral where we were paid soloists. Our situation was as perfect as possible. My husband received an offer he couldn't refuse, so we prepared to move. The night before we drove to D.C.,

Christ Church, Alexandria, VA. In this sanctuary, both of my children were baptized. One daughter was married here. We look forward to baptizing our grandson here, also. My husband and I have been members since 1977, when we came from Cleveland, Ohio. A choir member at our old parish suggested Christ Church, having visited as a tourist. The Christ Church choir director just happened to have openings for both a baritone and alto soloist (paid soloists being the thing in many Episcopal churches). So we sang in the choir for many years, and my husband still does. In the beginning, all of the exotic southern culture involved in living in Alexandria felt like wearing new, slightly itchy clothing. We found ourselves living in a foreign country that spoke a version of English. Some people drawled, like in the movies! Others, being transplants like us, did not. As for food: Just as casseroles, I'm told, are the holy food of Methodism, ham biscuits were here. Church receptions al

So now it is our fault that so much gas has been consumed, and that we will cost the country so much in Social Security. That we paid into Social Security all these years, and that our parents embraced consumption, and schooled us in it, are not relevant. We tried. Ours was the first Earth Day (the year I graduated high school).We marched against the Vietnam War. Many of our brothers, cousins, friends died in that war--the last generation to be drafted. We rebelled and revolted against our parents' Mad Men values. Yet we are being pilloried in the press and on the web as being greedy, selfish, youth-smitten black holes of consumerism. How did this happen? Why was my parents' generation the "Greatest", when we were also drafted, and also threatened by the world's madness?  I know. They suffered the Depression (mom still saved foil, and I did, also, when newly married). They were terrified of being conquered by the terrible despots of the time. We fear

Mom as a child. My Mother had a secret war. She didn't take it to the streets, or join with others to wage it. In her heart she held beliefs that were mightily opposed to the popular opinion of her time. She taught me that African Americans were not N****s, as the neighbors said. They were "colored people, or Negroes". They were people like us. But she taught these things quietly, as if fearing someone would overhear. The most powerful, long-lasting oppression she held within her was the oppression of Anti-Semitism . She falsified her applications for work after she quit high school because they asked for her religion. She wrote, "Protestant", instead.  In one of her first jobs she was routinely called the "Jew Girl" . This she wanted to avoid in the future. When I was small, she counseled me to never tell anyone I was half Jewish. We lived in a second-generation Roman Catholic neighborhood in Willowick, Ohio. I told, anyway. I thought, if

My mother, before she learned to run like a girl. My mother taught me how to run like a girl. I was outside (we were always outside) playing with girlfriends. We raced each other, and my mom came out from behind the screen door. She said, "You shouldn't run with your fists clenched! You are a girl. You should be more feminine. Here, let me show you." She demonstrated a few adorable steps with hands flapping listlessly beside her.  She stopped and glared at me. "See?" I dutifully practiced, feeling terribly frustrated. How fast can someone run if they to think about how cute they look while doing it? Not very.  I was never able to integrate that pretty, graceful girl my mom had in her mind's eye. And I suspect that those women who were raised in the days of segregated women's and men's employment newspaper ads, and women's news, mostly had difficulty with these superimposed requirements. So when I read Judith Martin's In defense

I have to admit that I have been obsessing about my age lately. I've allowed my hair to go grey because I want to dare to be myself, as God has me right now. Yet I am wondering if God cares that I look older than my peers who color. I don't think she does. Also, I am reasonably fit but I still have droopy skin and a crinkly neck. I work with people who are ALL YOUNGER THAN I, a first in my life. I feel alternately hot and over-the-hill depending on how I'm feeling at any given moment. It is unsettling to feel hot when I really am not. Gail as Older Person I simultaneously want to be as fit and up-to-date as possible to offset my age as well as to just be as I am, sinking into comfortable sloth, gluttony, and evil humor as befits my status as a senior citizen. So I'm ambivalent. My close personal friends from high school might remember that I've always been this way. In adolescence I was a hippie (not going into details) but as a performer I was glamorous.