Car Guy?

It’s that time of the year, again. While car manufacturers have taken to introducing new models at various times throughout the year, the largest inventory of the coming year’s vehicles arrives at dealers this month. When people look to accessorize their new fall wardrobe they check out the finish on the carriages they will use to transport them to their destinations. Cars, not only for the male of the species as the previous sentence attempts to hint, hold an intimate relationship with American culture.

Front View of My 2002 Nissan Maxima GLE

Across the street my two neighbors recently purchased new vehicles for their young families. Two of my daughters are in the market for vehicles; one will probably purchase a used—now euphemistically referred to as pre-owned—while the other will buy one fresh off the assembly line. Since we are still adjusting to retired life on a fixed income, we had David, our mechanic, change oil and give our twelve year old car a thorough inspection this week.

When I was growing up in Milwaukee, I took pride in being able to identify the latest models our neighbors purchased. By the time I was ten and my brother seven, we squared off in an intense rivalry to see who could name the make and model of random cars as they came into view. (Today, he’d clean my clock.) My parents never bought a new car, but our driveway was loaded with an assortment of bargains. So, if one didn’t work, there was a spare to take its place.

Driver Side View of My 2002 Nissan Maxima GLE 

Everything changed in 1964. Up until then the dream was to have a large luxurious car like a Cadillac Seville, Buick Electra or an Olds 98. With the introduction of the Ford Mustang the urge shifted to lean and quick. Chevy Camaro, Pontiac Firebird and Plymouth Barracuda followed to create the “muscle car” era. All of them produced a state of euphoria for me, but when the Wicked Mr. (Wilson) Pickett sang his soulful lyrics my heart forever was tied to Mustang Sally…1966. I actually owned a 1965 (some versions of the lyrics say he bought Sally a 1965) Mustang, but it had only six cylinders and three speeds, not the classic eight cylinder, 289 cubic inch engine with four on the floor.

Cover of 1966 Mustang Model
My daughters bought it for me 20 years ago.
I'll put it together this year.

Unfortunately, my ownership of that vehicle was short-lived because it drank oil for breakfast every morning and accrued a higher maintenance bill than all of Charlie Sheen’s wives combined. Which brings me to another point. It’s much harder to be a car guy in the 21^st Century. Even if you don’t buy the global warming theory, it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out the black stuff and the liquefied version we pump into our tanks makes a mess of things when our engines burn it. Besides, if the price of the crap continues to rise, only people in Charlie Sheen’s income level will be able to afford it.

Currently, the car I would most like to own (besides the ’66 Mustang) is the Tesla S, an electric vehicle that goes more than 200 miles on a charge, but costs $60,000. A number of manufacturers in the U.S. and elsewhere have said they plan to produce an electric vehicle with that kind of range for about half that price. The sooner they do, the sooner I can get back to being a real car guy.

Welcoming in the New Year—Part Two

Noodle kugel is a casserole with noodles, eggs
and cheese. Often cinnamon and raisins are added
for sweetness. 

When we left off last week I was at the water’s edge attempting to find redemption. As far as I know none of the ducks were harmed as the result of our actions. Being analytical by nature I pause to contemplate if my contrition outweighs the salacious thoughts swirling in my synapsis. Needless to say, human impulse provides abundant fuel for cleansing and purification.

Naturally, while I was working out at the gym this week, the right shoulder of the twenty-something crushing her abs on the machine in front of me had a tattoo with the words, “Judgment is weakened by desire.” Coming in the middle of the Days of Awe, I knew this was a sign. Fortunately, my judgment informs my habitual attendance at the gym, and while I desire the attention of that or any young (or for that matter, old) woman, it never weakened my commitment to complete all of the reps in each set on the chest press and throughout my routine.

The Sound of the Shofar.

Getting back to the Days of Awe, as promised last week, I will attempt to provide a detailed description of what they are and how they are supposed to work. They begin, as previously noted, with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Ten days later, they end on Yom Kippur, which translates to, “ The Day of Atonement.”  Similar to a twelve step program, one must first acknowledge the problem before a solution can be sought. Easy enough, I misbehaved or had impure thoughts. (Go ahead; tell me you didn’t. Put it in the comment section. I dare you.) No heavy lifting on Rosh Hashanah. Like I said, it’s really a happy celebration.

Next, you’re supposed to make amends. We were invited to a party on Sunday to welcome the New Year. It was at the home of friends we used to see around once a month. My guess is it was more than a year since we saw them last. The other couples, which we used to see at those monthly get-togethers, were there, too. While our lives have taken us in different directions, and exclusion does not necessarily imply malice or misconduct (Birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs, Graduations, Weddings and Funerals have limitations; you can’t invite everyone), I never heard anyone say they were sorry. Everyone wished everyone else a Happy New Year and enjoyed the visit, especially the food. The blintzes and kugel were fabulous.

The Hebrew letters spell out Yom Kippur.

Finally, the big day is just around the corner. Tomorrow, at sunset, Yom Kippur begins. That’s right, Jewish days start at sunset of the previous day. I used to think that was ridiculous until I realized how arbitrary it is to begin a day in the middle of the night. (If you question my logic, then explain the reason for 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in a day and 60 seconds in a minute; why not 10/100/100?) Jews fast the day; no food, no water. The metaphor is one a writer readily identifies, a book. On Rosh Hashanah, the first day of awe, it is written, and Yom Kippur, the final day of awe, it is sealed. What is our fate? Sickness, health, hunger, abundance, sorrow, happiness, ignorance, enlightenment, poverty, wealth, death, life? May you be sealed for a good year in the Book of Life. Amen.

Welcoming in the New Year—Part One

Symbols of Rosh Hashanah
from upper left clockwise: shofar, apple
and honey, torah (scroll) 

Most Americans, even those who still have print calendars where the holiday is clearly marked, are unaware today is Rosh Hashanah. The words literally translate from Hebrew to the English, “Head of the year.” In the synagogue, the Jewish house of worship, the Hebrew words, “Yom Hazikaron,” are heard. These say, “Day, the First,” from left to right, but Hebrew is actually read from right to left, so you get, “The First Day.” Or, as David Letterman’s man in Time Square put it last night, Happy Newish Jew Year.

For anyone who has a sense of history, or has checked out the best seller The Bible in original print or modern audio version, the Jewish people and their calendar go back to the time of Abraham. No, not Lincoln, the one who begat Isaac, who begat Jacob—that one. Actually, he was a few thousand years before Jesus, so instead of the calendar reading 2013, it reads 5774. Also, unlike the Gregorian calendar, named for the Roman guy who devised our current model, the Hebrew calendar is lunar. In other words, the layout of the months is based upon the moon rather than the sun. If that isn’t confusing enough, because the Jewish New Year comes so early, Hanukkah, the holiday with the candles and spinning top that normally coincides with Christmas, begins on Thanksgiving.

Sweetness of the New Year: apples and honey

As one might imagine, like in most cultures and religions, the New Year is a time of celebration.   One popular custom to symbolize the sweetness associated with its arrival is to dip a slice of apple in honey. It’s not bad. Really, go ahead and try it. You can let me know what you think in the comment section.

However, as with so many religious celebrations, there is another, more sobering, aspect to this holiday. The first day of the New Year is also the first day of the Days of Awe. There are ten days of awe, during which time it is incumbent upon those of good faith to repent for their misconduct and seek forgiveness from those they have harmed, as well as from the almighty. Next week, in part two, I will explore this in further detail.

Blowing a long twisted shofar (ram's horn)
Symbol of the ram that Abraham sacrificed
instead of his son, Isaac.

Among the many rituals performed during this holiday, one I customarily observe is Tashlich. There are nearly as many interpretations of the term as there are of what exactly its purpose is. Unlike most prayers, which are said in the synagogue, the songs and recitations for this ritual take place at the water’s edge. So, my mother and I braved the 102 degree heat and joined around 50 other souls under the trees near a small lake in a community park. After our collective voices made their plea, each of us took some bread crumbs to throw into the water. As I made my solitary declaration, it did not matter to me whether my misdeeds were being symbolically cast into the sea or my soul purified by the cleansing liquid in front of me. My concern centered on the consumption habits of the ducks and would they survive another New Year.