Hurricane winds lifting me

They say there's a storm coming, that it's going to be big.  That it may hit New York and New Jersey with fierce, destructive winds, hurricane force winds.  But thankfully it looks like it will hit the day after Ben's Bar Mitzvah.  So we'll be spared.  The service, the kiddish, the luncheon in Montclair will go as planned. This morning is the dry run, the Thursday morning minyan, when Ben will wear the taffillin, the black leather strapped on his wrists, the small black box jutting from his far head. He will read a bit, test out his nerves.  Then we will be catering the breakfast, bagels from Sonny's and nova lox, our family practicing for the big day.

It's a beautiful sweet service.  There are just a handful of congregants, older gray-haired men, kind-hearted women smiling at us. Immediately I become the proud Jewish mother.  When we first arrive they are all congratulating me and Rob, patting Ben on the shoulder.  The Rabbi sits next to Ben and coaches him, leaning into him, explaining about the tzit, tzit, the fringes on his Tallis, his prayer shawl.  I look to my son wearing the leather, his shimmering blue tallis with matching kipah, and then look to the older male congregants wearing their well-worn version.  Ben with his soft boyish skin, davening with the older men, mouthing the hebrew.  I see the lifeline of Judaism, Ben's place in line.  It is so beautiful, I want to cry.

If I can count this morning's minyan as 1/3 of the Bar Mitzvah, I'd be content.  It went so well, the congregation were such menches, so sweet.  The rabbi was wonderful, focusing entirely on Ben, guiding him, whispering in his ear the entire service.  And despite Ben's rebelliousness to many things Jewish, his questioning of the process, his digging in his heels, today it can not be denied, he is officially a jew!

I'm just hoping tomorrow night, the Friday night service goes this well, I sort of think it will.  It's like now I'm floating along, I've done all the work, and now I'm just gliding through, the wind under me.  I can do no wrong, we are blessed.

carol

Carol taking me shopping today.  She's come back into my life with a vengence, tossing me a Bar Mitvah life raft in my hour of need. She’s my one college friend with a kid Ben’s age, her son’s Bar mitzvah just last year, and different from me, she seems to revel in the planning.  So each morning we check in, decide which store in the Short Hills Mall to meet, to begin the search for red shoes with that most rarified half-inch heel, neckless for the v-neck dress, stockings, a black bra.

We first met at Rutgers College, my last year there. She was interviewing roommates for her off-campus apartment and after talking for hours about the NJ Jewish Y camp where we both had gone, she since childhood, me following what would become an unrequited love at age nineteen, asked me to move in.  Each day we’d talk late into the night, go on egg diets together, sit on her bed as she'd strum Bob Dillon tunes, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. Eventually I’d introduce her to her own unrequited love, my brother Paul, whom she'd date for years.  She would become like a sister to me and though over the years we'd lost some of our closeness, in the last week she had morphed once again into my closest friend.  Only she was making me tense.  Over the years we both had perfected our type A personalities but it seemed she had pushed hers to new heights.  She was on a mission, Ben's Bar Mitzvah mission, and would drive an hour from Freehold to turn her laser focus onto my daily list.  Only problem, each day that went by, I'd look over the things we had purchased together and realize it wasn't going to work.  We didn't share the same taste, actually neither of us had the best taste.  But Betsy, the sales girl from Neiman Marcus did, so each time Carol and I would say goodby, I'd take the elevator up to Betsy and show her what we had bought and she'd shake her head no. 

"Those shoes--not with that dress.  You're looking way too Chanel with that Kate Spade block heel, you need to be more Audrey Hepburn.  You need a pointy heel.  Try a kitten pump.  And forget red.  You want black. Try Stuart Weizman, downstairs to the right. "

... a few days later, "It's a cute neckless, perfect with a white tee shirt, but not for your dress.  Actually forget a neckless, earrings should be your focus."

I had to tell Carol.  Not an option to have her sitting at the temple watching in horror as I approach the bima in pointy black shoes, sans neckless.  But it wouldn't be easy, considering how many  stores she had pulled me into, how thrilled she was with each and every score, as though our wayward boat had finally reached land.  I knew I was turning into mince meat, agreeing with her mostly to reconnect, to feel the warm glow of our long lost college friendship. I had to be honest with her.  A few days later I called her.

"Carol, I have something to tell you. Betsy, you remember Betsy, from Neiman, well she said the shoes and neckless were wrong for the dress. And well, let's face it, she does this for a living. But I'm keeping the neckless, even she loved it, just not with the dress."

"Lori, it's not a problem. I understand. Are you keeping the shoes?"

"No, I returned them today."

"Oh, good."

I love Carol, I want to hug her. But there's something else I have to tell her, even more painful.

"And Carol, I asked Ben if he minded you coming by at 7:30 the morning of his Bar Mitzvah to oversee my hair and makeup. He thought it would be awkward."

"Lori, that's fine, I understand, he doesn't see that much of me. No problem."

I tell myself, it's these little things that I'm so grateful for in this Bar Mitzvah process.  Carol back in my life is worth this entire stressed-out process. I truly forgot how important she is to me, how much we have in common, how much I missed her.  I trust her with my life, in all things important, fashion not being one of them.