Good luck at the DO, Brian!!

EW AER GINOORT FOR OUR ACHMP!!

With love from "abinr, eilnst ot em" and the gang

oooooxxxxx

PS -- no bacteria, viruses or doggy bags were hurt in the editing of this picture.

Heavy Rotation

It's high season for Mamapalooza preparation. So I'm in Toronto now. It's 24 hours after I set out on this journey, which will be the last for my truck.

When you are traveling 520 miles through lake effect, black ice and snow squalls, over mountains and through valleys, there's only one thing you can do: Play it loud and wail on your 78 RPMs at 85 MPH, as much as you can, when you can. Bust a tonsil if you must. And keep the selections at a good adrenal clip when you are behind the salt and sand truck. That is enough to keep the windows steamy all day into the night. Over the hours we witnessed four vehicles that had skidded into the highway median, but our little truck was flying.

Yona says, "Damn, we listened to a lot." First we went through some 200 songs from Yona's Creative Zen, including:

The All-American Rejects
The Fray
Beyonce (To the Left...you go, Girl)
Plain White T's
Cartel
Snow Patrol
Gwen Stefani (Halla Back Girl at brain-melting decibel)
Akon
Fergie (Fergalicious)
Bowling For Soup (they're all great)
Bobby McFerron
Bryan Adams (Summer of 69 -- repeat if necessary: repeat)
Yellow Card
Cascada
DHT
Blue October
and many, many more.

At Corning, for the first refueling, we switched mp3 players.

From my iPod we harmonized with:

Lucinda Williams (Car Wheels on a Gravel Road)
Laura Nyro (The Loom's Desire)
2 hours' worth of Italian classics, with a focus on Louis Prima and Connie Francis
Yiddish radio classics (Yiddish in swing, too dayum good for English words! Sultry Barry Sisters...Moishe Oysher with that wholly erotic voice...even 50 years after his death -- OMG!)
Rosanne Cash (you are very much on my mind, darling!)
Rodney Crowell
Emmylou Harris
AC/DC (Back in Black!)
Shel Silverstein (Freakin' and other ditties of debauchery...let my kid learn it from the Light in the Attic Guy, and not in the street!)
Gram Parsons Tribute CD (Elvis Costello's Sleepless Nights makes me cry every time)
Yiddish/Hebrew/Russian by Netanya Davrath (by the hour, repeating Es Brent and Eitz Ha'Rimon)
Marty Stuart (Hillbilly Rock)
Brian Setzer (a double shot of adrenalin and...my personal favourite...testosterone, all served up on a '57 Gretsch. How much do I love that guy?!)
Aerosmith
"Swing!" - Manhattan Transfer with Asleep at the Wheel
and Heaven Knows what else.

Here we are in TO. Gotta put a set list together for our gig on Thursday now. So many to choose from. One hour to knock 'em out before hitting the road again Thursday afternoon.

__________________________________________________________

Flashback to the eve of the Big Winter Road Trip of '07. The love of my life had just returned from a very exhausting trip to Southern Florida, San Francisco, Orange County and Los Angeles for a week. Miriam was en route to Paris with her school. Yona was going to be up in TO with me, so we were mellow and giving each other lots of space. Not to mention the Hellhound on my trail.

The week had sucked real bad. As lousy as I am to be around, I am no f*cking good at all when I'm alone, and everyone who knows me knows this. So our house became a frat house in which no one had a real meal or slept very much. We ordered in veggie Chinese one night. It lasted three days because we were all glued to the computer, obsessing on music, Scrabble, or whatever. Stuff was strewn everywhere. The mail was stacked up, unopened. No wash got done. People traipsed in and out. Big shout out to Miriam who actually made her bed and did the mountain of dishes. I think I made a batch of rice crispie treats. Or maybe I just meant to. We grawed on wilted carrots and rice crackers. The only order was disorder.

But there was at least one thing I got right: I dusted off my double set of Robert Johnson and blew the cobwebs off my 1952 National Resophonic. I pulled out my slide, which had been a gift from Johnny Winter who-knows-how-many years ago, and I played along to Mr. Johnson, in a trancelike state. I never forgot how good that stuff sounded. It's always like the first time, especially when you drop the tuning down and do it like Robert did it. Yona took the picture, which is below.

I am offering you the lyric to Come On In My Kitchen. Best version I will ever remember was by David Rea (where are you now, Davy, California I hear?). His big claim to fame was writing Mississippi Queen, which Mountain made famous. I met David Rea at either Mariposa or Owen Sound sometime during the Jurassic era. I loaned him my Yamaha FG-180, when I learned from his manager, Gene Mascardelli, that David's Martin was stolen. He spent a year banging out his legendary, amazing Robert Johnson show on that battle-scarred guitar, which I still have and treasure. When I got it back, it looked like hell, but it sure sounded like David had sold its soul to the devil. I am positive that's how it went down.

So, here it is, with a special personal dedication from me to Jeff Healey.


Come On In My Kitchen

By Robert Johnson
Recorded in San Antonio, Texas, on Monday, November 23, 1936.

Mmm... you better come on in my kitchen babe, it’s goin’ to be rainin’ outdoors
The woman I love, took from my best friend
Some joker got lucky, stole her back again
You better come on in my kitchen babe, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

Oh, she's gone, I know she won't come back
I've taken the last nickel out of her nation sack
You better come on in my kitchen, baby, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

(Spoken: Oh, can't you hear that wind howl?)
Can't you hear that wind howl?
You better come on in my kitchen, baby, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

When a woman gets in trouble, everybody throws her down
Lookin' for her good friend, none can't be found
You better come on in my kitchen, baby, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

Winter time's comin', it's goin' to be slow
You can make the winter, babe, that's dry long so
You better come on in my kitchen, 'cause it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

The Tide Comes In And The Tide Goes Out

I have come to realize that the world is not such that people seem to be dying all the time. There is a tide. It comes in and sweeps up what looks to us as a random collection of souls. The tide goes back out again and the earthly voice of those souls is silenced forever from our ears. But in our hearts the light of our dear departed ones still radiates warmth and provides comfort in our dream world.

Last night I learned that the father of my friends Gitl and Binyumen (and their two siblings) had passed away after a lengthy decline. All told, there were sixteen grandchildren, most of whom are well on their way to adulthood. But still, at 79 years old in our modern world, Dr. Mordkhe Schaechter was still a kid.

I took the ride over to the Upper West Side for the funeral. The casket, draped in a stark black cloth with a large Jewish star, was at the front of the modest chapel. There was an aura of peace and tranquility that was not a good match for the lively character of the Departed.

I saw a throng of diverse kinds of people, from all walks of life and persuasions. There were intellectuals, musicians, academics, scholars and theatre people. There was even a newspaper publisher. As I looked around and listened to fragments of conversation, I had to remind myself that I was in New York City: Most of the people there were speaking Yiddish. Even the grandchildren were speaking Yiddish.

There were speakers who praised Dr. Schaechter. His grandson even read a poem he had written about him in fourth grade. By any standard, it was an amazing poem and there was not a dry eye.

But the highlight was Binyumen's hesped -- eulogy.

We were a bit surprised to hear my choir director deliver the speech in English, especially when I had anticipated the sweet chicken soup comfort of Yiddish. He described what life was like for the children of this towering giant. He recounted family ancedotes, he read clips from articles, and he recalled a certain nameless joke that his father loved.

He also sang a song, "Chupchik." And it was in that moment that I realized what this was all about. When Mordkhe Schaechter was a boy, his father went to Siberia, never to return. Mordkhe would spend his entire life devoted to his father's memory. Just as my mother, who was 79 when she died, searched the world over for her mother, whom Mum left behind in Poland once she went to Siberia. We had "Chupchik" on the turntable in our house, too.

For his whole life Mordkhe would walk along the shore of his childhood, dredging for what perhaps the tide had left behind. A memento. A hint. Some memory of his father.

With every verse of "Chupchik" Binyumen's gentle voice faltered a little bit. It was the most beautiful and perfect version -- a prayer: that his own children one day might give him an equally fitting hesped; that his children would not have to grow up devoid of a father; that he will have the strength of character to one day live up to his father's good name and leave a legacy that could "fill a stadium," as one friend put it.

For now Binyumen and his siblings must truly assume the yoke of their father: standing on the shore with shoeboxes that are filled with their father's index cards, each containing a hand-written word in Yiddish with meticulously codified pronunciations -- scrawlings of a man driven to preserve a fragile language; yearning for the voice to breathe life into those papers; and watching the tide.

_________________________________________________________

Mordkhe Schaechter, 79, Leading Yiddish Linguist, Dies

By WOLFGANG SAXON

The New York Times

February 16, 2007

Mordkhe Schaechter, a leading Yiddish linguist who spent a lifetime studying, standardizing and teaching the language, died yesterday in the Bronx. He was 79 and lived in Yonkers.
His death, at Montefiore Medical Center, followed a long illness, his daughter Rukhl Schaechter said.

Dr. Schaechter, whose passion for Yiddish dated to his boyhood in Romania, dedicated his life to reclaiming Yiddish as a living language for the descendants of its first speakers, the Ashkenazic Jewry of central and eastern Europe. Written in the Hebrew alphabet and containing Semitic, Germanic and other components, it is one of the three major literary languages in Jewish history, the others being Hebrew and Aramaic.

In addition to being a teacher, Dr. Schaechter was an author and promoter, founding organizations devoted to furthering the use of Yiddish. He wrote dictionaries intending to standardize it.

Dr. Schaechter was a senior lecturer in Yiddish studies at Columbia from 1981 to 1993. He also taught in the Weinreich Program in Yiddish Language, Literature and Culture from its beginning in 1968 until 2004; the program is a joint project of Columbia and the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research in New York, which is prominent in the study of Ashkenazic Jewry.

Dr. Schaechter started contributing to YIVO — then based in Poland — as an archival collector in Austria in 1947, four years before he came to the United States. Over the years he also gave Yiddish courses at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, the Jewish Teachers Seminary-Herzliah and Yeshiva University, all in New York.

In the 1980s, he was associate editor of The Great Dictionary of the Yiddish Language and, from 1961 to 1972, he was associate editor of The Language and Culture Atlas of Ashkenazic Jewry. From the 1970s until 1986 he was a bibliographer, proofreader and finally editor of YIVO’s Yiddishe Shprakh, a journal devoted to the pronunciation, grammar and vocabulary of standard Yiddish.

Itsye Mordkhe Schaechter was born on Dec. 1, 1927, in what was then the Romanian town of Cernauti but is now Chernivtsi in Ukraine, or Czernowitz to its Yiddish speakers. He became fascinated with Yiddish as a pupil and later studied linguistics at the University of Bucharest. He received his doctorate at the University of Vienna in 1951 with a dissertation in Yiddish.
Dr. Schaechter arrived in New York that year. After serving in military intelligence in the United States Army during the Korean War, he resumed his association with YIVO and began teaching and writing.

He founded the Committee for the Implementation of the Standardized Yiddish Orthography in 1958.

Six years later, with two students, he founded Yugntruf (“Call to Youth”), a worldwide organization devoted to teaching Yiddish to new generations. (It has a Web site at www.Yugntruf.org.)

Dr. Schaechter founded the Task Force for Yiddish Terminology in 1970 and the League for Yiddish, based in New York, in 1979. He served as its executive director until 2004.
In 1994, Dr. Schaechter received the Itzik Manger Prize, the most prestigious Yiddish literary award. His books, all in Yiddish, include “Authentic Yiddish” (1986), “Pregnancy, Childbirth and Early Childhood: An English-Yiddish Dictionary” (1991), “The History of the Standardized Yiddish Spelling” (1999), “Yiddish II: An Intermediate and Advanced Textbook” (2004), and “Plant Names in Yiddish: A Handbook of Botanical Terminology” (2005).

Dr. Schaechter is survived by his wife of 50 years, Charne Schaechter; three daughters, Rukhl Schaechter of Yonkers, Gitl Viswanath of Teaneck, N.J., and Eydl Reznik of Safed, or Tsfat, Israel; a son, Binyumen of Manhattan; a sister, Bella Schaechter-Gottesman of the Bronx; and 16 grandchildren, with whom he spoke only in Yiddish, his son said.

Dear Friends,

I'm sorry that I have not been able to get to all of you individually, but I wanted to let you know that my brother in law, Ronnie Kraar (on the right in this photo, with his brother/my husband Marty), passed away this past Monday, Jan. 15, after enduring many years of illness and failing health. We had been to see him on Saturday at Mercy Hospital in Miami and then we flew home. His condition simply deteriorated overnight, and Marty cancelled all his business travel to fly back to Florida on Monday morning. Two hours and fifteen minutes after Marty arrived at the hospital, Ronnie peacefully passed away, surrounded by his loving wife and brother.

Around four years ago Ronnie started getting interested in Scrabble. As a birthday treat we bought him an NSA membership, a Deluxe board and some Scrabble merch. We started playing with him on ISC, where his handle was EyeDocRon. This enabled us not only to chat and "see" our brother all the time, but to also engage in our beloved pursuit.

Of all Ronnie's personal belongings that his wife was going to give us she wanted to keep the Scrabble stuff because she couldn't bear to part with it.

The bad aspect of all this is that ten months after my mum passed away, Marty's oldest brother, Louis, died. It is now ten months after that tragic event, and Marty's middle brother is gone, leaving Marty the sole survivor of his nuclear family.

The blessing in disguise is the of all the failing parts on his body that were not good enough to donate, EyeDocRon's eyes were perfect. He donated his corneas to the Eye Bank. A beautiful gift from a beautiful person. Rest well, Ronnie.

Below you will find Ronnie's obit from the Chicago Tribune. It is possible some of you had known him from his professional days.


Sincerely,
Lynda

PS -- we want to print out EyeDocRon's games that are in his history file on ISC as part of a scrapbook for our family. Can anyone let me know how this is done?

Ronald S. Kraar, z"l

Ronald S. Kraar, 67, of Coconut Grove, FL, on Jan. 15. Ron, who lived in the Chicago area most of his life, owned and managed Kraar Eye Care in South Chicago for 30 years. Ron's practice was known for both his technological innovation and his rigorous, compassionate care of his patients. His generosity, avid curiosity, and irreverent sense of humor will be missed by all. Beloved husband of Jeannette; much-loved brother of Martin and his wife Lynda; loving father of Julie, Ellen and John; and stepson Russell Greenberg; proud grandfather of Ryan, Connor and Jordan. Ron completed graduate study in management and, after retiring from his optometric practice, started a consulting firm with "his buddy," Jeannette. Seven years ago, he moved to Florida. Ron is also missed by Howard, his dog. Ron, above all, loved people and devoted most of his life to helping them.

TZAREVNA: My Dream Word
and I finally got to play it!

Marty and I are getting back into the Scrabble swing a bit. He still swears that he will not be coerced by me (or anyone else on my behalf!) to come to a tournament, but there is no denying that the guy is a master strategist. I've been on a real streak -- losing every game we've played all weekend long. I exchanged tiles at least three or four times per game, re-drawing five I's or three As with nothing but vowels and clunky dross.

Early in this game Marty double doubled on me with SOCKETS for 109 points. That was just as I thought I was going to have my big comeback.
I exchanged twice after that -- once seven tiles, and then next play six, before playing ODOUR for 16, which Marty followed with MIXER for 42.

It took me no time to find TZAREVNA for 108 (always a bridesmaid!!) and I was ahead by a hair. Despite GuARDeD for 65 not long afterward I was still behind, and only came ahead when I pulled and used whatever was left in the bag, wherever opportunity presented itself. It was my only victory all weekend long.

Hey Marty, get back to the tournaments, honey! You are a monster! xoxoxoxo

A Very Hot Ticket!


My friend in the Negev metropolis of Beer-Sheva informs me that she has begun to promote a very hot vocal act. She sent me an mp3, which you will soon be able to check out on their upcoming website. These guys could seriously knock your socks off.

Signon Akher (“Singular Style”) is Beer-Sheva’s vocal jazz ensemble made up of all volunteer, highly talented and trained singers, coming from varying professions, crazy about singing and delighting audiences; under the leadership of renowned conductor/arranger Yoni Shaham from Kibbutz Gevim in the Negev. This is an upbeat, spirited ensemble – a sheer pleasure to watch and hear!!

For now, you can see Signon Akher performing on Jan. 24, 8.pm., at the Mormon University in Jerusalem. Enjoy!

Help stop the violence in New Orleans!

For the benefit of anyone not affiliated with the Krewe, I am reprinting a letter from Captain LJ of the Jieux Krewe (a historic former Jewish Mardi Gras sub-krewe, and yes, it's for real and you also may want to click here). Let us remember the victims of the new, unneccesary wave of violence in NOLA who died NEEDLESSLY. We cannot fix in the past what was humanly possible to avoid, but let's help make it right for the future. HELP STOP THE VIOLENCE IN NEW ORLEANS.

If you do not live in NOLA, please contact your local representative and demand hands-on help. Our chorus of voices can help more than we know!

Read on....

_____________________________________________

From: LJ

Dear Friends,

I am horrified to have relate to you that one of our former Krewe members, Helen Hill, was murdered this past Thursday. I am in touch with her brother Jake, and will let you know the details about the funeral service this Wednesday in South Carolina. Tonight there is a memorial at Cafe Brazil at 7:00pm. I've reprinted below all the information that I have gotten about via the Internet, and there are two or three articles on nola.com.

Helen's husband Paul, and their pet pig Rosie were also members. Rosie being the first and only non-human "J.A.P." (Jieuxish American Pig) in our (and maybe all of) history.

Although Krewe du Jieux is no longer a sub-krewe of Krewe du Vieux and will not be parading with any of Krewe du Vieux's sub-krewes this year, we are currently coordinating an event the evening of their parade, and whatever that offering is. As is our custom and tradition, whatever our offering is, will be dedicated to Helen Hill and former member Cornell "Magoo" Jackson who died this past April.

I am also horrified to report that Dinerral Shavers was also murdered yesterday. He was the snare drummer for the Hot 8 Brass Band that played our "Hot 8 Days of Chanukah" second line parade just a few weeks ago, and that played for Krewe du Vieux's Krewe of K.A.O.S. last year when the Jieuxs wandered into K.A.O.S. Please read below how the community is responding to all this killing in our city in a march planned for Thursday that I encourage you to find out more about.

An hour from now, as you know, from 6pm to 9pm is 6t'9 Social Aid & Pleasure Club's 13th night Thank You Party, and those that can will be heading down to Helen's memorial at Cafe Brazil afterwards. We totally understand if you cannot attend the Thank You Party, or care to leave it at 7:00 for the memorial service.

Please save this upcoming Friday, January 12th for our annual 18th night meeting, this year to be a potluck shabbat dinner where we will discuss all this and more. Details t.b.a. when I know more.

Again, I am sorry to be the bearer of this, and please feel free to be in touch if need be for any reason.

Enough Already!
Captain L.J.,
N.J.B.I.C.F.L.

[Here are a few things you can do:]

There is also a memorial get together Sunday night at 7:00pm at Cafe Brasil for Helen Hill. I spoke with someone who was "standing rightbeside Dr. Paul" during my phone call. Paul is extremely heartbroken, to say the least. Luckily the bullet wounds were not life threatening, and he was released from the hospital a few days ago.The most serious wound was to his hand, on which he had surgery. Hewas shot at four times, and hit in the hand, arm and face. They areheading to South Carolina; Paul, Francis (their son) and Rosie (the pet pig), with some friends.
Thanks!
Carl Mack

------------------------------------------

There will be acommunity meeting in response to Helen Hill's murder to also plan a Thursday march today (Sunday, January 7) at 1 pm at the Sound Cafe on Chartres at Press Street in the Marigny.

---------------------------------------------

Subject: Thursday: Crime March on City Hall Thursday Noon: March on City Hall - An Important March Against CRIME!
Dear Members and Friends:
Mark your calendar for this Thursday, noon, for an important march to City Hall, sponsored by a coalition of different neighborhoods. This violence and crime is affecting all of us and it must end. If you can help organize the march, come to a planning meeting Sunday, 1 p.m., at Sound Café, 2700 Chartres.
Obviously, more details about the march will be announced after the planning meeting but mark your calendar now.
Nathan Chapman
PresidentVieux Carre
Property Owners, Residents and Associates, Inc.
---------------------------------------------------
Crime Rally Meeting / March
It is time for our elected officials to face up to the violence that is strangling our neighborhoods. Come march with us to City Hall to demand action Thursday, January 11 at Noon
Marigny-Bywater residents and ALL concerned New Orleanians, please come to a planning meeting this Sunday, January 7 at 1pm at Sound Cafe (2700 Chartres St.)

Let's start off the new year with a few good laughs

Whadaya say? It's healthy; it's fat-free; it's less strenuous than ab crunches.

So here goes. Lemme know how you like 'em.

Horserace commentator

A Most Tragic Program!

Hey! That's Dangerous!

Thank you, Forward!

On behalf of the Jewish People's Philharmonic Chorus, thanks to the Forward newspaper for raving about our CD. Buy it now. It makes a great holiday gift! Read on.

xoxoxo

Lynda
__________________________________________

Five Fab Finds

Fri. Dec 08, 2006

Does your sister really need another set of scented candles? Doesn’t your father have enough ties? Forget the old standbys! Here’s a collection of brand-new finds that should satisfy even the most persnickety of relations...

New Sounds

“Zingt! A Celebration of Yiddish Choral Music” is a new CD that includes first-time choral recordings of old and new Yiddish tunes. Performed by the Jewish People’s Philharmonic Chorus under the baton of Binyumen Schaechter, the album features guest soloists Joel Caplan and Steve Sterner as well as pianists Elizabeth Rodgers and Mitchell Vines.

Thejppc.org, $18.

Six really great minutes!

This is a great time of year to lighten up and capture a little bit of joy for yourself. Better than a mass consumer gift, I offer you a gift of quality time.

Click here for six truly entertaining minutes with an 18-year-old Joel Grey featured on the Eddie Cantor show. Wow!

Joel, who was just breaking into showbiz at the time, was the teenage son of Mickey Katz, also renowned as the Yiddish Spike Jones.

A big shout out to Google videos for this clip, and to Google for helping me find this picture of whiz kid Joel in 0.6 seconds (thanks, simonpure.com).

xoxoxoxo

Lynda

Toronto: 1231

Just the facts, man

FRIDAY

I am seeded 65th and am not expected to do too well against this impressive field. A couple of the right kind of victories will send me over the top. However, a loss against someone seeded below me might crush me.

Game One: Yvonne Lobo, 42nd seed

After a sad little VAW I change tiles twice. Yvonne bingos with JOINTERS for 98 points, and the score is 120 to 166, Yvonne's favour. I find CARDIA for 20 points (not my best play, but my shout-out to my live games trainer Aldo Cardia and a prayer to the tile gods). I change tiles twice and manage to squeak out GOAlIES for 71 points, extending CARDIA to CARDIAE. Final score: 417-271. My first win.

Game Two: Trey Wright, 8th seed

What can I say? It was a perfect game for this talented concert pianist. He had left me limping after scoring with OPIOIDS, FLAnERIE, REMANDS and PHONETIC. The best I could manage was QADI for 34 points. But it was a fun game and a real pleasure to meet this one-time national champion. After twelve plays per side, the score is 272-554. I'm 1-1. Je ne regrette rien!

Game Three: Rachel Matlow, 88th seed

Sixteen whopping moves on my part in this game against the daughter of my Grade Six English teacher. No bingos, just little leaps forward: YAUPS, INION, CUIF, WEDGIE and so forth. Rachel makes QuIT for 44 points and then QuIT for 36 on her next turn. for Final score: 331-292. I'm 2-1.

Game Four: Joel Sherman, 13th seed

I'm nervous and excited to be playing the famous Joel Sherman. We have never played together, although I've known Joel for a few years from his role as club director in New York City. I've always liked him and now that we are facing off, I get to watch and make notes to myself. I am playing like an imbecile, although I manage to hold my own for awhile there. By the seventh play there is a beautiful opening on the board at 15H, where a lone E tempts me. On my rack is EEIRSV?. I am wearing my clock down. I am confused and cloudy. I have been studying new words dangerously close to tournament time and now I am really baffled. The clock is ticking down. I am seeing a blend of DEVISEES and REVISALS, but time is of the essence, so I lay down REVISEEs* across the E. Joel holds the play, does an internal calculation and quickly challenges it off. Joel took a bit of time and then thoughtfully blocked that sweet spot with TIRL right above it. I spent the rest of the game pissing my good tiles away, watching my score wane as his waxed, and struggling to shorten the cumulative gap. No bingos this game. Final score: 249-368. I'm 2-2.

Game Five: Steve Pellinen, 25th seed

I open with TREATY for 26, and Steve flies out of the gate with FLEURY for 24. On his next move, he lays down SALINIFY* and I promptly challenge it off, then exchange seven tiles. He makes ZIGS and CULEX, and then bingos with INDOwED for 82 points, raising him up to 229 to my 153. I find ENCAGES and then UNSATED. Too little too late. Final score: 387-394. I'm 2-3.

Game Six: Ross Brown, 91st seed

Ross opens with HANGED and I find WANGLING immediately. He questions my JERRID but lets it stay on the board. In his ninth move he finds TOLERATE for 66 and I counter with EASIEsT for 77. Final score: 452-317. I'm 3-3.

Game Seven: Carolyn Easter, 39th seed

My last game of the day. Lucky thirteen. That's how many plays per side we managed in this game. In our opening volley I make QI to which she counters with IF, and it's off to the races. Two moves later I bingo with TREPANS for 72 points. Meanwhile Carolyn is making small plays, treading water. After I see TOOTERS for 64, I am feeling confident. I lay down DIGGER and ATMAN and then another bingo, WEIRDED, for 82 points. I've broken away and am heading toward victory. In our last volleys I unload EX for 39 points and JAILED for 22. Score is now 393 to 327 and I am contemplating my end game. I check the tracking. I see that Carolyn is holding a V, a C and an L. I am happy happy happy. And then she blows my mind with VESICLE, to bingo out, which fetches her 101 points plus 16 from me. I stand up and give her a big hug. That was amazing. I am so impressed! Final score: 393-454. I'm 3-4.

At the end of the first day I am 3-4. I've lost all the games that I was expected to lose in this tournament and I've won a game I was expected to lose. Not bad at all. That will garner me a few rating points.

SATURDAY

Game Eight: Sid Lashley, 61st seed

Sid opens with MOLE and I come back with WINK for 27, PARITY for 30 and DANGLE for 24, giving me the lead. Then I lay down EARNERs for 68 points, and later, IONIsED for 63. After 14 plays for me, the final score is 379-322. I'm 4-4.

Game Nine: Geoffrey Newman, 81st seed

My opponent opens with ERODERS for 68 points. I am trailing and making little plays like AUREOLE, MAX and FILER, dumping stuff and building some points. Then I hit on FOLIAGE for 76, and now we have us a game. Geoffrey comes back with INEDITA for 82 points, and I am still throwing back small but strong punches. I bingo with SUNRIsE, then play FEZES and QAT to assure my victory against this young up-and-comer. He's very good. Final score: 440-380. I'm 5-4.

Game Ten: Geoff Gibson, 75th seed

Sometimes you feel the game going the wrong way and you can do nothing to stop the bleeding. This was one of those games. With Geoff seeded lower than me I was pretty confident that I would find the way to pull this off. Especially when he played URAEI and then its anagram, AUREI. I played QUODS for 50 points and then it started. He bingoed with REINDEER, bungoed with GROOMED and then two plays later, after his ZAG for 43, he bingoed with ELATIONS for 70. I ask tournament director John Chew to consider the fact that Geoff should be rated higher because of his recent stellar performance in another tournament. I am pleading my case not to let Geoff wipe out my progress so far. John says, "I'll put that on my list of things to do," and writes it down on a long sheet of paper with many scribblings. Final score: 279-460. I'm 5-5.

Game Eleven: Lisa Odom, 16th seed

My third expert. I'm quite thrilled about this! And with my record so far, I can afford the bloodletting and still come out ahead. I open with OIDIA. Lisa makes HOGTIE for 22, and then I play JEEZ for 31 while she counters with FUTZED for 38. I play TWeAK for 45 and then AUROREAN for 76. Score's now 176-130 and I'm feeling pretty good. Two plays later, Lisa plunks down SIDEWALK for 89 and we are neck in neck until nearly the end when I challenge PECH. She makes 45 points and takes a decisive lead. Final score: 363-404. I'm 5-6.

Game Twelve: Robin Pollock Daniel, 4th seed

Yet another formidable expert opponent. I so badly want to find the big words; the impressive words; the words I've been studying. I open with FIND and Robin counters with GRANA. I make BATMAN for 20 and she zings me with ZA for 46. I get the J and start to giggle: All I can find is a spot for 28 points to play JO. I can forget about making any interesting plays to show off my new word knowledge. Now sitting with two blanks on my rack, it takes me an eternity to find ETERniTY for 70 points, and then Robin comes back with VENDORS two plays later. She plays a lovely YOGINI through some stuff on the board. I get WARTS for 34, and then we spill out little words, setting me back and Robin way forward until the final score is 318-423. I'm 5-7.

I rethink my tournament. I have two byes as we all do in this particular tournament. This makes me technically at 7-7, so I am okay. I'm even money. But it's time to get serious and start taking control. I've played all the experts I can handle and have learned something valuable with each of those losses. It's been such a cool ride.

Game Thirteen: Mark Gooley, 54th seed

We are dancing the dance. Mark bingos with RETUNiNG for 70 points. I am unafraid. Then I spot the convergence of opportunity and knowledge: There is AERATED on my rack and
an orphan D on the board. I make DEAERATE. Mark challenges and I get another shot at the bag, making ORBY for 30. I have the draw and the opportunity and the board is wide open. Final score: 365-308. I'm 8-7.

At the end of the second day, I am holding my own. There are two pages posted with the updated standings. Instinctively I look at the second page and do not see my name. I did not realize that I had made it onto the first page. It is humbling and I have to be very careful not to rest on these transient laurels.

SUNDAY

Game Fourteen: Anna Miransky, 64th seed

I need this win. I need this win because I am nervous about any more losses. Anna is seeded one directly above me. At the rate I've been going, I should be able to knock her out. But in thirteen moves I will not find the way. I do, however, play CAISSON for a disappointing 64 points, rather than any of its more familiar anagrams, hopeful that Anna will challenge. She looks, ponders, and moves on. Meantime, she plays OUTWEAR for 69 and then ENTREaT for 68. I play JAW; she plays CROUP. It is over. Final score: 352-384. I am 8-8.

Game Fifteen: Sinni Vijayakumar, 19th seed

We are in the final game before the final King of the Hill round. I can feel the tension. I come out swinging with PAX for 32, then COITAL for 33 and then JELLY for 46. I'm an animal. Sinni lays down FOLIAGES for 65. Then I pull out ORDAINED for 70. We are running neck in neck. I play MEWED, BIRDY, AMAZES, GNU and then Sinni plays GUNWALE through something for 20 points. He is ahead by 20 points. I am tasting it. I need it. I will make it happen. I look on my rack and see the play that will bring me there. I play SOUTANE for 69 points. Heading into the final round, it is mine. Final score: 394-345. I am 9-8.

King of the Hill: Abraham Thomas, 38th seed

Abraham opens with POCK and I feel myself a bit light-headed, looking at his play for a second, but then plunking down ZIP for 34 points. He counters with XIS for 39 and then I see uNWASHED for 78. I find CLAVE for 28 points and then FEEB. He is pondering this word. That can only mean one thing: I have studied the new word list and know my way around it. Abraham tries STROBING* and I challenge it off. Then later, KIRTLING* and off it goes, too. I play STORAGE for 70 points, then PRAY for 36. It is clear that I have the draw and the composure. Abraham's clock is dangerously low and falling. I unload junk as we near the end, making OIL, ILIAD, QUIN for 13 points and RID. And it is done. Final score: 403-361. I am 10-8.

Despite 20 bingos for and 21 against, I have a shiny new rating of 1231. No money, but I'm very satisfied.

Holy Scrabble, Batman!

Prelude to a tournament

I close my eyes and it is two weeks ago or probably more by now, but it is a clear memory. A Tuesday night. I am recoving from a cold which was made worse by a 12-hour plane ride, climate and time zone change. Suddenly I am sweating profusely and sleeping all day. I am jet lagged and trying to keep North American hours because I have a Scrabble tournament in Toronto coming up, and I'll be damned if all the studying I did on that eliptical machine is going to waste now that I am in Tel Aviv.

Tuesday. I take a cab from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and visit Lori, who is on the mend after breast cancer took one breast and several lymph nodes. So how is my childhood friend?

"My parents survived the Holocaust. How can I complain?"

That's how she is. And so I schlep around after her as we go from her fabulous bakery/restaurant La Cuisine in Talpiyot, carpooling the young'uns and going to the mall to exchange a few things before heading to see her mum, back to her apartment and then to a great new burger joint in the German Colony. We are caught up. We have had two meals during the course of the day (and I've sampled some of her delicious delicacies) and things are the way they have always been for us.

Back in the burger shack we are sucking the sauce off the barbecue chicken wings and still gabbing when I realize that it's late and I'm probably going to miss the first Scrabble match-up of the Sam Orbaum club. It's drizzling and Jerusalem is cold cold cold on this night. Winter-like. People tool around in heavy coats, hats and scarves. Cars are skidding on the winding paths that pass for thoroughfares. Not a good night to cross, even at a crosswalk.

We venture out and in no time Lori drops me at Scrabble. I race up the stairs and there it is -- the land that time forgot: the Sam Orbaum Scrabble club. At least sixty people sitting at their boards, dropping words down, hitting timers and recording plays. It's an important night: qualifiers for an upcoming tournament.

And just as in the region's politics and religions, there is a rift in Israel's anglo Scrabble society concerning which is the appropriate word list to use. Jerusalem plays the North American TWL while Tel Aviv favours SOWPODS, which is used outside North America. This night there is a tension in the air. There are so many new words since the new TWL list came out last March. Every bad play or challenge can be blamed on the new word list. Who will survive and see the Finals? Who by AGGADAH; who by KEFFIYAH. Who shall survive the cut; who shall go down with FEEB and DEF. In this city that is holy to three major monotheistic religions it's all up to the tile gods tonight.

I get in two games and win them both. The club director opts to have a piece of me while simultaneously playing someone else. This happens at the Jerusalem club. I don't feel I have the director's full attention when I open with YILL and he challenges. A new word, perhaps? No. A short while later I make room for DOOMY and again he challenges my play. New, nu? No. I had an unfair advantage because we three were Canadians, all talking about things Toronto, Guelph and Hamilton. Maybe we were not really focused on the game. But hey, I will take my wins.

The bummer of the night was that my friend Wendy Orbaum did not win any of her games and thus was not going to qualify in the upcoming tournament. Heartbreak! I gave her several boxes of Lori's cookies so that she and her three daughters could console themselves at home. In coming days I would receive an email from Wendy, who described the cookies at ACGIMORS (you figure that one out), and she wished me a good tournament in Toronto.

It was still drizzling and chilly when I caught a cab back to Tel Aviv. But when I arrived at the hotel on the beachfront by midnight, it was warm and balmy out.

Several hours later, Marty drove me to the airport, and I was on a Continental flight from the Holy Land to Newark.

I am now in the plane with several of Marty's colleagues and friends. Next to me a resident of Dallas named Mario with whom I would snooze and bond over the next twelve hours. A wonderful travel companion.

Mario's family came to the States from the West Bank after the intifada and now have established ten successful hispanic supermarkets in Texas. We talked about the Palestinian and Israeli situation and then our banter turned to the political situation in the States. After those ten minutes were over, we mostly gabbed about parenthood, music, marriage and life in general. He watched some Arab-language movies on his laptop and I worked my word lists.

It was a day flight and the territory we covered was beautiful -- desert regions that soon turned to Greece and its idyllic islands, hilly Turkey, frosty mountains in Italy, verdant Eastern Europe, a greyer Western Europe, bucolic Ireland, Iceland, rugged Labrador, Maine and then nothing but cloud cover for hours to come after being spoiled by perfectly clear skies until now. With around half an hour left to landing we realized we were in a holding pattern over the Catskills. The pilot came on a few times to update us and people were a bit uneasy about not being able to land right away.

But things really got uncomfortable when the pilot came back on and announced with regret in his voice that due to heavy headwinds we had to stop for a refuelling in Stewart Field in Newburgh, NY: It was the safe thing to do. Some of us know that this is a ten-minute flight to Newark. But others were really freaked out by this news. I was okay until I realized that the booze had been locked up and stowed away.

Not only did we need fuel but the wings needed oil. That's another maintenance crew and another truck. Poor Mario was going to miss his connection back to Texas.

Nonetheless, an hour behind schedule we landed in Newark and was I ever happy to touch down and grab my luggage. It was only around 6:30 p.m. but my body thought it was after midnight. I stepped outside and waited for the cab. The night air was more humid and heavier than I'd felt for a few days, but it was also a bit milder. Thirteen hours of plane air expelled from my lungs. I went home in a daze and slept with my windows wide open. I received a voice mail from Mario that he had taken a later flight and was okay. That's all I recall, other than I might have let my daughters tend to me a little bit.

The next morning the sky looked threatening. I knew I had to get Miriam ready for our car at 3:30 p.m. which would get us back to Newark and to our Toronto-bound plane for our 5:15 flight. She had her stuff ready and I had thought through what I was going to bring.

I did my usual domestic goddess drudgery: I drove Yona to school and then cooked all kinds of goodies for the weekend. We have a houseguest -- an actor from Toronto who is opening in a New York City production soon. And Marty would be back by then, too.

There was no point in wearing clean clothes. I threw on my plane clothes. I'd clean up when I got to Toronto.

Meantime, I made a banana bread, veal stew, and sauteed chicken livers in carmelized onions. A little olive oil and flour never hurt sweat pants and a tee shirt. Just in time to pick up Miriam from school and finish packing. Meantime, the sky has gone from grey to bitter angry. Tumultuous clouds are racing across the sky like sheep from a hungry wolf. The trees are swaying and the wind is swirling the leaves into mini-tornados.

We have a one-hour delay. This is our reprieve to get our stuff packed up just right for the trip. Because at this point we are in denial. We know this flight will go and that the minute we take off we will be up and out of this storm.

At the airport we discover that there is a two-hour delay. There is practically no line at security and it is eerily quiet. We stroll down to the end of the terminal, to the Presidents Club for a snack. Hordes of agitated, disappointed and angry people crowd at the gates. But inside the club it's quite different. The bartenders look very happy. Their tip jars are full of greenbacks and some foreign currency, too. It's festive. The board is flashing with delays and cancellations. There are audible thunderstorms outside. It clears; then there is fog as the night turns the sky black. We see limited numbers of planes taking off and landing outside the club. But no one is really paying attention in here.

The airline representatives are processing everyone as quickly as they can. One man who missed his trans-Atlantic flight is being rerouted through Minnesota. A Calgarian is heading back home and cancelling a business trip to Orange County. On the other hand, the TO flight is apparently still a go. We can probably make the last flight out if the storm clears.

Meantime we grab a seat and friendly up to a gent from Edinburgh. Miriam is fascinated by all things Scottish and the two of them are engrossed in conversation about everything from film to mankind. His name is Ged and he is a neighbour of J.K. Rowling. Ged plies me with two glasses of chablis from the Continental Cellars and Miriam is drinking soft drinks, eating little packets of cheese and an apple. She goes off to work on her sketchbook, and Ged and I talk about life events. The recent loss of our mothers (we are the same age). Kids. Divorce. Disjointed lives. Travel. The joy of meeting new people. The joy of finding happiness again. Hours pass and Ged's flight is ready to leave. We say our good byes. He hands us his business card and invites us to call him when we come to Scotland for the Fringe Festival, which apparently we have been coaxed into doing, thanks to the chablis. A big, full frontal hug and kiss from our new old friend and he disappears.

Meantime a group of five guys in their mid-forties have gravitated into our area. They are showing off pictures of their kids and wives to each other. We soon learn that they were eavesdropping in on our conversation with Ged. They are high school buddies from New Jersey -- now scattered -- who get together every year and have an ingathering of exiles. This year they are off to Dublin to see churches, do some sight seeing, drink some real Irish beer. But mostly they are going to Dublin to see Bruce Springsteen.

I carefully looked them over. We told them that I was going to Toronto to play Scrabble. Miriam rolled her eyes, but the redhead from the west coast was fascinated. A pregnant pause as I contemplate my next move and reach into my carry-on for my board and tiles. I utter:

"Hey, hundred bucks -- all of you against me. I'll take you all on. Say, twenty bucks each. How about it?"

Miriam was dumbstruck and more than a little embarrassed. The guys all looked at each other and gave that "why the heck not" look.

"Just let me check the board first and see what's going on with our flight."

While they refuelled their beer steins I hopped over to see that our flight had been removed from the board. Nine o'clock and we were cancelled. I checked at the desk. Cancelled, indeed, and more bad news: We were placed on a flight at 8:30 p.m. the next night. That would give me seven forfeits in my tournament. Completely, utterly unacceptable!!

I stood and tried to make the gentleman behind the counter understand that I knew, from much personal experience, that the morning flight would be wide open, but he was not open to listening. I was royally pissed and now I was sweating again, the last gasp of my cold. The smell of fried onions wafted from my clothes.

"I want a refund."

Done. I called the tournament director and left a message informing him that I was cancelling. I called my friends in Toronto and told them not to come out to the airport to get me.

Five minutes later, I realized the error of my way. Why the hell would I refund my trip and cancel my tournament? Did I not study enough? Was I not ready? I'd been through a refuelling, a bad cold and twenty-four hours in the air, no change of clothing, and now this?

I gathered my wits and went back to the counter. The man was gone and there was a new person at the desk. I pled my case and asked her to reinstate my ticket and wipe out the whole refund incident. I explained that I needed to be in Toronto by the morning. She was masterful in making it happen. Of course, as I had suspected, the morning flight was wide open.

"Just make sure you show up, because that plane will have your luggage on it and will not leave without you," she warned.

We said our sad good byes to our new friends who were a bit disappointed. Next, what to do? Go home for a few hours and come back at 5 a.m.? All the hotels were sold out. We cabbed back home and got up at 4:30 a.m. The weather behaved. I threw on the sweats and we headed out to the airport where we changed our seats up to the bulkhead.

A completely uneventful flight. We dozed off and then suddenly, we were on the ground in Toronto.

All I wanted to do was to get our stuff, race up to my friend's house for a quick shower and to burn my clothes outside in a pire. At the luggage carousel Miriam noticed a bad thing: The only ones waiting for luggage were those who were bumped from the night before. The smell of fried onions followed me to the baggage counter where we all filled out claim forms. We were assured that the luggage would be on the next plane and might even be airborne as we were standing there. Fine. Let's go. Clock is running down.

Within minutes my friend arrived with the car and I drove her to work, then continued to Earl Bales Park in North York where I arrived with scant minutes before my first game at 10:30 a.m. I was finally here. Phew. Deep breaths. An air of anticipation. Miriam sat around and waited for my best friend to come by and rescue her from this den of nerds. But meantime she got to see some of the Scrabblers from the circuit and it was not totally unpleasant for her.

I will save the Scrabble commentary for another post.

Let me just say that after a day of fighting hard in the tournament and struggling to keep my head up, we raced up to Thornhill to my girlfriend's. I forgot that I was jet lagged; that I smelled like a goat; that the luggage still had not arrived; that it was my girlfriend's birthday and I wanted to fete her. But the road to hell is paved with good intention. I would party with the best of them tonight, I thought.

By 8:30 p.m., after a good shower, I was really getting pissed. The luggage was somewhere in Toronto being dropped off to us weary travelers wherever we were. My friend's husband gave me some sweats to wear. I looked like a wooly bear and could not fit into my jacket. One last time I eased myself into my sweats, now smelling like the collision of stale McDonald's french fry oil and a sulfur plant disaster, and borrowed a tank top from my friend. We were about to head to the store when I realized something, and I told everyone to stand back: I was going to call Continental's lost luggage claims department.

Because I am a gamer, I will not reveal to you my method (you will have to find your own), however, I will inform you that by 8:45 p.m. Continental was springing for a lost clothing compensation spree for Miriam and me. It started at Old Navy and ended at the Loblaws Super Store. So you know we are good sports and did not take advantage. Three pairs of slacks; one blouse; one sweater; two sports bras. Total: Somewhere around $150, US funds, not including taxes.

With Miriam at a friend's in the neighbourhood for the night, there was still a birthday to celebrate. Donning my new jeans and sweater, I dozed off in the chair during the big outing with my best friend. Underwhelmed by my festive spirit, she took me home and went back to the bar while I dragged my sorry bones into bed and crashed hard. At around 1 a.m. I heard the doorbell: Bing bong. Continental calling, luggage in hand.

For the most part I decided to do the right thing and only wear my new duds for the next couple of days, out of principal.

Next: How the games went.

Here's some info about a very interesting program on Dec. 3 in Connecticut. I am a proud "rookie" alto with the Jewish People's Philharmonic Chorus, and we will be featured at this event. Please come by, enjoy a fabulous musical event...and say hello!
- Lynda

The Emanuel Synagogue in West Hartford, CT, presents

A Yiddish Choral Festival

featuring

Binyumen Schaechter, Conductor,

The Jewish People’s Philharmonic Chorus

and 11-year old Yiddish performer,

Reyna Schaechter

Sunday, December 3, 2006

The Emanuel Synagogue, 160 Mohegan Drive, West Hartford, CT 06117

For all who love Yiddish music! For all who love Choral music!For all who love to listen! For all who love to sing! If you will be in New England or East New York State that Sunday, you won't want to miss this event!

This exciting Yiddish Choral Festival, to be held at the Emanuel Synagogue, will include a pair of workshops/sing-alongs led by Binyumen Schaechter and a rehearsal of 2-3 pieces to be shared by all participating choral groups. We will conclude with a choral performance featuring the JPPC, conducted by Schaechter, and featuring child soloists Reyna Schaechter and Arun Viswanath.

Binyumen Schaechter is an award-winning composer of musicals, revue songs and cabaret songs which have been performed in theaters and cabarets everywhere. His music has been sung by many famous singers, featured on PBS, ABC and NBC and recorded on a bunch of CDs.

You may have also seen him in the show and video Too Jewish?, in which he was Avi Hoffman's pianist, backup-singer and straight man.The JPPC is an excellent Yiddish chorus whose recent performance venues include Lincoln Center and Shea Stadium (singing "America the Beautiful" in Yiddish before the Mets game).

The Chorus just released their acclaimed first CD this year, ZINGT! A CELEBRATION OF YIDDISH CHORAL MUSIC,

The concert performance will be open to the public and serve as a fundraiser for the Emanuel. Come learn about Yiddish music and/or come to the concert in the afternoon. This day will have something for everyone!

For more information contact Cantor Sanford Cohn cantorcohn@emanuelsynagogue.org or at 860-236-1275.

Rawhide - Skaggs, Statman, Cherryholmes

Check out Andy Statman on mandolin in this excellent video. He is the mando's answer to Mattisyahu and has been there since Beit, as in, The Beginning!!

Scrabble Natterings*

Yesterday was a beautiful Indian summer day. Crisp in the morning, and then the sun poured out and melted itself all over my back as I winded my way to Washington Square Park. It took an hour and a half to travel the relatively short distance. There was a lot of waiting involved. I did not make the "Spanish bus" in time and when I got to 175th Street, I stood on the platform with a small crowd since some trains were not running. But that's gamble of public transportation in the big city. It's a gamble -- just like Scrabble.

And what a perfect segue to today's topic.

Washington Square Park has been in a lull for the Scrabble players. It has atrophied since the renovation of the park and the advent of the new word list. I'm new -- I've only been making my occasional appearance for the past four years. But I like knowing it's there, with all its history and cameraderie. I am uneasy about what the future holds for our little corner.

Scrabble hit paydirt a few years ago with Stefan Fatsis's book, Word Freak. There were a few ambitious documentaries about Scrabble that followed. We were introduced to several of the top players, all of whom are charismatic, quirky, always present at the tournaments and very approachable. Even ESPN joined in the chorus. We heard the players' personal stories, learned how they find those amazing plays and also got to see their immense word knowledge in action. Meantime, the Park was alive with curious spectators, tourists with cameras and those who wanted to step up to a table and challenge a Parkie to a game. It had an undeniable celebrity.

After much anticipation (and trepidation) the new blue-covered Tournament Word List was published last March. The race was on to memorize more than 3,000 new words, including the ground-breaking QI and ZA : Now we can place these awkward tiles in a two-letter configuration for 60-plus points.

We have been blessed with the likes of TECH, EMAIL, GAYDAR, MUSKOX, LOOKIST and my personal favourite, ZUZIM, an archaic currency referred to in Passover HAGGADOT, which anagrams to the newly acceptable AGGADOTH. I have been using my time at the gym to study the new words.

The active retirees and seniors who make up a critical mass of tournament players are not thrilled having to climb a steeper mountain. Who wants to learn new words when most people are still learning the old ones? This lament that can be heard throughout the Scrabble clubs in North America. Scrabble has been a moving target. I've heard people say that they are going back to chess or cards rather than learn the words.

I would suggest a check-off box on tournament forms for interested parties -- particularly at the bottom division -- to play the old list with others who share their preference. I'll bet that would bring a few players back. I know I'll get some mail about that, but there ya go.

As for the Park -- There were only four of us at two boards. I had a great time playing Diane F. in three games. Visiting from Texas and currently the 18th top Scrabbler in North America, Avi Moss dropped by and kibitzed our game, spotting an eight-letter medical term that I could not get down, nor did I know. The results of the last game are in the picture at the top of this post. Can you spot any new words? I went out with ReRUN to claim the game by a point or two, despite Diane's three bingos in a beautiful and very fun game.

What a blessing -- good weather, good friends and a board. Let's revive the Park!

_____________________________________________________

By the way.....

For you living room players, please note that there is also a new word list with a red cover that you can purchase at most book stores, too. The difference is mainly the handful of naughty words that your mummies and daddies would be upset with if they saw them on your boards.




*Natterings is a phony. But it does anagram nicely to ASTRINGENT and INTEGRANTS.

The music lives on in New Orleans

I want to give a big shout out to the "pfista" who posted this video of the French Quarter to YouTube.com. It features members of the Jackson Square Players.

The band made our trip to New Orleans very memorable just a few months before Katrina. I had the privilege to jam with them in the Square. Could not believe my dumb luck that they wanted me to join them for a few songs!!

I hope this vid clip inspires you to plan a trip to the place where the human spirit endures.

xoxoxo
Lynda

New Orleans Rising!

Rob Espino of the New Orleans Potholes Brass Band writes:

I don't know if you caught the game Monday night, but I played on stage with Green Day and U2. You can see me on stage with them. Here's the ESPN pre game show from Monday night in case ya missed it.

To see the video, click here. Way to go, Rob. Wow!

Way to go, Saints! Read all about it!

xoxoxo
Lynda

Here's a poem by Yona. I'm so proud of her! I want to give credit to the Teaneck Community Charter School for inspiring her to greater heights!
xoxoxo
Lynda


The Aftermath
by yona mcgraw 7/8-1

how quickly 5 years have fled,
how much our hearts have bled,
so many lives were lost,
at such an extreme cost,
too many innocent people perished,
but are still forever cherished,
the buildings had collapsed early in the day,
it took almost a year for the distruction to be cleaned away,
such an aweful time in out past,
though it wasn't the first, it was hopefully the last,
it left our flags half staf,
and our country divided in half,
of all the great things, this we have the least,
it's the most important; we like to call it peace,
after the tradgety, we tried to pull together,
to help heal the trauma, though some were wounded forever,
why can't we stop the war,
they keep piling up more and more,
the influence was set by the men of yesterday,
and by the current generation, so now the youth must pay,
instead of violence, this is an important decision to make,
to go with peace, for you see, to go without is to make a big mistake.

Thank you, Roslyn Dickens!