On this all Saints' Day, I remember and celebrate the life of my grandmother, Dr. Shirley Felman Moritt. A child of Russian immigrants, she achieved a new level of education and became a school principal. She kept her family afloat on her salary despite my Grandfather's gambling addiction. She tolerated no fools and once sent me out to buy new clothes because I'd brought a (long) denim skirt on a visit to her. Denim, in her mind, was not an appropriate fabric for going to dinner. She told me my mother (her daughter) was a hard ass. Even though she wasn't crazy about women on the bima, she was prepared to come to my ordination, but she died just 3 weeks before. Her brother died with no children, so my daughter has her maiden name, Felman, an honor to this incredible woman whom I miss regularly.
I like words and I recently discovered Save the Words , a website which allows you to adopt words that have faded from the English lexicon and are endanger of being dropped from the Oxford English Dictionary. When you adopt a word, you agree to use it in conversation and writing in an attempt to re-introduce said word back into regular usage. It is exactly as geeky as it sounds. And I love it. A latibule is a hiding place. Use it in a sentence, please. After my son goes to bed, I pull out the good chocolate from my latibule and have a "mommy moment". The perfect latibule was just behind the northwest corner of the barn, where one had a clear view during "Kick the Can". She tucked the movie stub into an old chocolate box, her latibule for sentimental souvenirs. I like the sound of latibule, though I think I would spend more time defining it and defending myself than actually using it. Come to think of it, I'm not really sure how often I use the ...
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