Tales from the EDGE™
By Pam Sherman | August 26, 2007
The Suburban Outlaw™ blogs about life in the cornfield and living on the EDGE™.
Fasting into Fall.
By Pam Sherman | October 7, 2011
I love the fall. The sky changes color and of course, so do the leaves. The kids go back to school. And in our family we get dressed up and go to Temple. We don’t go much throughout the year other than to drop kids off at their required religious school – because even though we aren’t continuously observant we want them to know who they are and where they came from and we want someone else to teach it to them.
Fall is the time of the Jewish Holidays. The big ones. The High Holy Days. In swift succession there’s Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shmini Atzreit (love that one). I went to Cardozo Law School which is part of Yeshiva University and I learned not only about the law but every obscure Jewish holiday in the fall because school was closed half the time.
Rosh Hashanah is great. Apples and honey and blowing the shofar. Sukkot is even fun, eating in a hut – which for a Jewish girl is practically camping amid the gourds, pumpkins, and more apples.
But Yom Kippur - not so much fun. This is the holiday where we say we’re sorry for everything we did all year. We even beat our chest. And, we don’t eat all day. I wonder how many people go to Temple that day just so they won’t eat or because they might hurt someone? It’s generally a very cranky day. And then when the sun sets we all stuff ourselves beyond belief – breaking the fast while breaking records.
I used to joke at least Yom Kippur wasn’t Ramadan where we’d have to fast for 30 days. In fact I often didn’t fast at all because I frankly didn’t believe being hungry for a few hours was going to make a difference. I still was going to be bitchy and cranky and all the things I was supposed to be sorry for and not eating would just reinforce my bad attitude.
But as we embark on the holiday of Yom Kippur, this year is a little different, because this year I’ve been transformed…by belief. This past year I was surprised to learn I actually believe, even just a little bit, in my religion. As a result the holidays have taken on a bit more meaning.
Last April, as my family sat down to celebrate Passover I was flying to Beirut for a tour of the Middle East for my work - Lebanon, Oman and Saudi Arabia. It was a wonderful and illuminating trip and in some ways defined me more in my Jewishness than my trips to Israel.
I never felt uncomfortable with any of my hosts, most knew I was Jewish and it was a non-issue. I did find myself internally editing my yiddishisms which I’d always thought were just New York’isms, i.e., schlepp, became carry. At the passport control in Lebanon, as the guard rifled through my passport, he asked in halting English, “Israel stamp?” “Nope,” I replied with a wide welcoming smile. He wasn’t going to catch me out – it was a new passport, what they call a clean passport. But I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as I made my way past the guard with machine guns.
It was on my last day before returning home that I experienced my first crisis of faith. I was in Jeddah, the Miami of Saudi Arabia. I was relaxing with my hosts having tea and dates and talking about my experience on the plane ride over from Oman. I had witnessed pilgrims in the plane dis-robe from their daily clothes and put on a special white robe and start praying in the aisles. I was sitting in first class next to a Pakistani from Long Island and he explained that as the plane passed over the holy airspace the pilgrims would start their prayer. I marveled at their dedication and their utter faith.
As I was sharing my experience the next day in Jeddah, one of the guests, a wonderful, warm fellow asked me what I was doing the next day before my flight home. He asked me if I’d like to see Mecca – the holiest city for Muslims – which was about an hour away by car. “But I thought you had to be Muslim to enter Mecca?” “Yes, you do, no worries, I’ll convert you. I’ve done it to lots of Americans.”
I was speechless. Convert? Here in the middle of a party? I had already accepted an invitation to go to the beach house of one of my hosts. Of course I was already lamenting that I wouldn’t get much relief from the 110 degree weather because I couldn’t wear a bathing suit, but had to wear my dark long abaya (the robe I had to wear in public).
I joked that I was an infidel and I’d rather go to the beach. But he insisted on “converting” me so that I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity. I kept thinking he was joking but when I turned to some of the others around him, including his wife, they affirmed it was that easy – snap you are converted. Except first you have to answer these questions:Do you believe in God? Sure I said (easy enough to say yes, although a few years ago I might have entered a philosophical discussion on that one).
Do you believe that Abraham and Moses were Prophets of God? Sure. (He knew I was going to say yes to that one).
Do you believe that Muhammad was a Prophet of God? For some people (I answered hedging my bets).
He smiled broadly, “Close enough. That’s it you’re converted.”
But then something happened, maybe a light of recognition, maybe it was the light of betrayal, as I thought about my daughter entering her year of Hebrew lessons for her Bat Mitzvah year, it just seemed wrong to “convert” so easily just so I could go to a city which for me would be a tourist feather in my cap and for others is a place so holy they change into white towels on a plane and lay prostate in the aisles.
“You know I’d rather go to the beach,” I said. He looked so disappointed, but somehow I knew that I was doing the right thing. The next day at my host’s beach house he asked me to relax and enjoy the view as he sat and prayed on a small carpet in his living room. In that quiet moment I experienced something more holy than a pilgrimage to a dusty city based on a lie of conversion, I experienced the quiet faith of a man in prayer as the sun set over the water.
Tomorrow as I fast and spend the day in Temple with my family I come to the holiday with a renewed understanding of why we do what we do. We are seeking something personal and at the same time communal that will transform our everyday lives into something holy. And that’s worth not eating for.
National Treasure: Great Women
By Pam Sherman | October 1, 2011
This weekend is the 2011 induction weekend for the National Women’s Hall of Fame in Seneca Falls, New York. Last night I attended the Gala Reception and introduction of the inductees with my Mom and my daughter at the Hotel Clarence. We made an afternoon trip and visited the Hall of Fame prior to the reception. It was the first time for my Mom, who lives on Staten Island and the first time for my daughter, who at 12 finally gets what it means to be a great woman. I couldn’t tear them both from the hall. While the museum is small it is filled with incredible stories of women. This place is a national treasure and a place that deserves our support. We need to preserve the legacy of the women who have been chosen as inductees. To do this the Hall needs to expand into the reclaimed Knitting Factory on the nearby canal. It will be a great testament to the women who worked in the knitting mill so long ago to transform the building into a tribute to great women in American history and it deserves our support.
I was thrilled and honored to meet both the acceptors and the inductees, like Donna Shalala known for her work in politics but who is now the President of the University of Miami and Dr. Loretta Ford, a pioneer in nursing practice and the co-founder of the nurse practitioner model. My daughter loved meeting the Director of the Seeing Eye who was accepting the induction on behalf of Dorothy Harrison Eustis the philanthropist who brought seeing eye dogs to America.
The best part of the night was being with two great women in my life, my Mom and my daughter.
Make a trip to Seneca Falls to visit the National Women’s Hall of Fame. You’ll see the stories of the newest inductees and learn about great women in history right in our own backyard. Visit www.greatwomen.org to learn more about the Hall of Fame.
Here’s a few pix of the Suburban Outlaw with Lily Ledbetter (Equal Pay Advocate); Dr. Bernice King (Daughter of Coretta Scott and Dr. Martin Luther King); and Kathrine Switzer (First Woman to race in the Boston Marathon).
Where Have I Been? Writing…on paper…for the paper.
By Pam Sherman | July 31, 2011
Just wanted to share that the Suburban Outlaw has now gone weekly in Gannett’s Democrat + Chronicle every Saturday in the Living Section.
Here are the links to the last few columns.
Home Far From Home.
http://www.democratandchronicle.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2011107300306
A Toast to the Meaning of Marriage
http://www.democratandchronicle.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2011107230307
Feel free to follow the Suburban Outlaw on Facebook and on Twitter.
Jazz for My Father (as seen on www.HerRochester.com)
By Pam Sherman | June 19, 2011
My Dad loved Jazz. He would turn on his stereo - always using the latest technology craze - records, tapes, 8-tracks, and finally cd’s and blast Ella, Sarah, Oscar Peterson, and Count Basie through the house. I’ll never forget going with him to see each of these greats in the “City” (which never made sense to me because we lived in the New York City, on Staten Island - but to my parents the City was Manhattan where we had all the “cultchah”). I loved watching my father love jazz. He would take my Mom out on the town and find jazz uptown and downtown and regale us with stories of hearing Bobby Short or his favorite, Marian McPartland at the Carlyle Hotel.
My Dad would have loved the Jazz Festival here in Rochester. He passed away about a year and a half after we moved to Rochester but he’d given the place the stamp of approval once he’d seen Wegmans and eaten at Two Vine. “You’ll be fine here Pamela.” But he never got to witness the phenomenon that the Jazz Festival has become. He also never got to hear both of my kids grow into talented trumpet players. He knew that my son had a natural pucker - the kid could blow the shofar at the age of 3. A jazz musician friend told us to, “Buy that kid a mouth piece.” We did and we couldn’t stop him blowing. My Dad loved it. But he has missed how he grew as a boy and how he learned to love playing jazz. He missed that my daughter discovered she loved trumpet as well and how she decided to play in the jazz band this year, her first in middle school. And most important, he missed my son playing both the Israeli National Anthem and “When the Saints Go Marching In” at his Bar Mitzvah. And yes, he missed the Bar Mitzvah too.
There’s a lot my Dad missed, and a lot I miss about my Dad. But I especially miss my Dad on Father’s Day, which is always around during our Jazz Festival. I’d like to imagine my Dad up there enjoying a great jazz concert of Gabriel playing trumpet, thumping his toes to the beat, and humming along and smiling the whole time.
Writing from Beirut (As seen on www.herrochester.com)
By Pam Sherman | April 20, 2011
Many hours ago I left home in Rochester to make the trek to the Middle East for my work teaching the Actor’s EDGE. I work with business leaders the world over helping them share their stories using acting techniques. I was invited last year to speak in Oman and the tour was expanded to include Beirut, Riyadh and Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.
I will say that I came with both anticipation and anxiety. Anticipation to work with amazing people who make a difference in their communities with their business. Anxiety about leaving home for so long. Anticipation to do what I say, “grow: out of your comfort zone.” Anxiety about going so far alone. Anticipation about seeing a part of the world that few get to see. Anxiety about what to expect from a part of the world we hear so much about and yet we know so little.
I know that my work can make a difference and yet my work takes me far from my children and my “known” world. This is in the category of be careful what you wish for, because a few years ago I wished that the Suburban Outlaw could spread the EDGE message all over the world….well look at me now.
And yet even far from home I find the familiar. I arrived in Beirut early in the a.m. and was surprised to see billboards for suburban tract houses and a huge Kentucky Fried Chicken Bucket in front of the airport. Looking at the view from my balcony feels familiar- the Mediterranean Sea and sun - I could be in Italy. Isn’t it funny how when we travel we try and ground our travels in places familiar and places experienced. And yet each place is unique. I’m in Beirut - not in suburbia and not in Italy.
I’m off to see the sister of a friend of mine in Pittsford who lives in Beirut and works around the corner at a different hotel. Crazy right? Finding someone with a link to Pittsford in Beirut. Nope, not crazy, just familiar.
Home Goods.
By Pam Sherman | March 23, 2011
As I write this I am staring out at a winter wonderland in Rochester wondering what happened to Spring. This is my springtime version of “I should have had a V-8.” It happens every year - snow in March…or April… and each year I’m surprised. I spent most of the winter flying all over the country so I suppose I was due for a winter….even if it was going to come in Spring. These past two weeks I have been home and loving it. There’s nothing like business travel to make you actually appreciate carpools and grocery shopping. But being home has also meant I can participate more fully in all our community has to offer.
Tonight on this snowy evening you could be down at the Memorial Art Gallery, witnessing a new classic opera, “Lily” written by the women who brought us “Pride & Prejudice” a few years ago, Amanda Jacobs and Lindsay Warren Baker and performed by the Empire State Lyric Theater and the gorgeous Sue Cotroneo. Next week she will host their annual Art & Whimsy fundraiser. Information is on the website. www.empirestatelyrictheatre.org
Tomorrow evening I’ll be MCing and auctioning off purses for the Women’s Foundation of Genessee Valley’s Purse for Change Auction. www.womensfoundation.org And to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, we attended the annual Friendly Son’s and Daughter’s of Ireland Dinner which in 12 years has raised over $400,000 for local charities serving the needs of children.
Our community is the gift that keeps on giving.
But the best part of my last few weeks at home came when I greeted some visitors from another city and saw our city through their eyes. On a grey and rainy day in Rochester, I hosted two visitors from MIlford, CT. They flew all the way from there to meet Louis Perticone of Artisanworks (www.artisanworks.net) and learn how he created a non-profit that serves the community in a myriad of ways. They are interested in creating a multi-use space in their community and Artisanworks model is unique. Louis gave us an amazing tour and along with his partner, Kimberley Trenholm intrigued our visitors with the Artisanworks vision and mission.
In addition to Artisanworks, I was so proud to show off all that Rochester had to offer. I was able to traverse from one location to another with ease (they marveled at our traffic). Lunch at Two Vine. Showing off the George Eastman House and the Strong Museum. Even the Erie Canal. Then they introduced me to Historic Houseparts on South Avenue (www.historichouseparts.com). Apparently it is famous around the country for hard-to-find hardware, lighting, and plumbing. Who knew? They did and they don’t live here. (I’m sure you do it was just my first time there…but definitely not my last).
As I drove them to the airport I couldn’t help but smile, as it only took me 15 minutes to get there from my house. Of course, their flight was cancelled and they had to fly to DC to go home to CT and, I guess that’s Rochester too - you can’t get there from here. Still all in all, our home gave them the goods and for that I’m very proud.
Try this wherever you live - be a tour guide in your home town. It will open your eyes to all that’s good at home. I’m sure your home has the goods too.
Stop Listen and Learn (as seen on www.herrochester.com)
By Pam Sherman | March 6, 2011
Last week I attended the Global Leadership Summit of the Young Presidents’ Organization in Denver, Colorado. I was in attendance both as an education resource and as a spouse to my husband, who while no longer young is still a member of the organization (he joined when he was actually young).The organization’s mission is better leaders through education and idea exchange. It was started 60 years ago here in Rochester, New York by Ray Hickock and now boasts over 17,000 members world-wide.
Each year the members gather together for a variety of events, locally and internationally, the largest of which is the Summit. In the past speakers have included Desmond TuTu, (then) Senator Barack Obama, and Wyclef Jean. This year the line-up included John Legend, an advocate for education reform, Julian Assange of Wiki-leaks (by satellite, under house arrest) and President Paul Kagame of Rwanda.
You may have heard in the news how George W. Bush was supposed to speak but decided not to once he learned of Assange’s presence. http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2011/02/25/ap/business/main20036560.shtml Instead, as a last minute replacement (and frankly I think he was great), Tom Brokaw came and spoke with great clarity, perspective, and gravity about our world today and what is expected of each of us as citizens of the world.
Despite the high profile story of the Bush/Assange show down, the speakers that moved me and helped me gain perspective on the world in the way I never expected were speakers I’d never heard of before. Rose Mapendo, survived the Congolese death camps to come to America and tell her story and move us to tears and hopefully action. www.mapendonew horizons.org; Dr. Elizabeth Lindsey, PhD. is a brave explorer and anthropologist who may do for a generation of young women what Margaret Mead did – inspire them to the adventure of learning about the world around us. www.kahanapono.tripod.com.Three stories of young commercial and social entrepreneurs, including Brandon Beck who sold www.riotgrames.com, his gaming company for $400 million; Talia Leman who has raised 10’s of millions of dollars for charity through www.randomkid.org; and 9 year old Joshua Williams whose charity Josh’s Heart www.joshsheart.org has given away over 300,000 lbs of food to those in need. I was both fascinated and moved by Muslim writer Irshad Manji, who seeks to create peace through understanding www.irshadmanji.com. She surprised the crowd by donating her speaking fee to speaker RoseMapendo, and then she was equally surprised when she was offered an open-ended, non-reversible invitation to speak in Jordan by a YPO’er. Two incredibly spontaneous and true moments.
And finally, I had the pleasure of moderating a discussion with three of Glamour Magazine’s top college women to watch, including Michele Pomeroy, a women’s advocate, Mackenzie Lowry, an anti-tobacco activist, and Erica Fletcher, a socio-documentarian. Amazing young women who make a difference with great humility and heart.
These are inspirational speakers you’ve never heard of and yet they move the world every time they open their mouth to speak.It isn’t often that I take the time to let information wash over me, carry me away, and move me to tears. Too often I’m running around, working to create the information, or disseminating information through my writing or my training and consulting work. What a gift to stop, listen, and learn. I recommend it highly for everyone – at least once a year….for an hour, a day, and if you can swing it even longer. You’ll be glad you did – you never know how you will be inspired.
Valentine’s Day Pressure.
By Pam Sherman | February 14, 2011
Valentine’s Day is a lot of pressure. A lot of pressure for husbands to bring home something special for wives; boyfriends to make reservations at the hottest place in town; and for moms to make sure the kids have great chocolate for their class-mates (woe to the mother who buys those hearts with sayings on them as the V-Day candy). After 26 years of marriage I’ve given up on Valentine’s Day as an actual romantic day. I’ve come to realize that romance should not be dictated by a date on the calendar and a card company.
I sometimes wonder if my absolution of my husband on Valentine’s Day is just the Stockholm Syndrome in full effect – I identify with my captor and he has just brainwashed me into believing this. But our last 10 years of Valentine’s Days have been all about our children. We end up eating a great meal at home avoiding all the crowds and enjoying hanging together as a family. (The only thing I have not been able to figure out is how to avoid the pink and red explosion that occurs at Wegmans every year because the assault usually begins right after the Super Bowl.)
Instead our romance comes in unexpected ways, like when I arrive late at night from a flight and my husband is there to hug me and help me into the house with my luggage. Or when he washes my car - in and out. Or every morning when he makes me an egg white omelet and turkey bacon and my coffee at 5:00 a.m. (It makes me so happy, I could do him on the counter right then and there if it weren’t for those pesky children.) After 26 years marriage tends to be about cooking, chores, and logistics. To me, romance comes when I’m satisfied in any one of those three categories. My needs are simple.
This year, we had the great pleasure of spending part of our Valentine’s weekend in Skaneateles at an event with the host of the Newlywed Game, Bob Eubanks. Yup, the Bob Eubanks. He was hosting an event called the Not So New Newlywed Game where he shared stories from his career and then played a version of the game. I was surprised by how hard the questions were – and how much intimate information we were asked to reveal in front of a large group. But, I will admit I’m very competitive and we were the longest married couple - it would have been embarrassing to lose - and we didn’t. So I was happy to joke about “making whoopee” but I’m not sure that Bob realized his “whoopee” (sex) is different from my “whoopee” (chores).
This year, my Valentine’s Day gift came early. As we were traveling back from our annual Sherman family weekend in Florida, I literally wanted to rip my husband’s t-shirt off his back. Not because I wanted to ravage him but because I hate that he wears ripped, old t-shirts. When we got to our gate he disappeared for a moment, he came back wearing a different shirt and handed me the old ripped t-shirt. And right there at Gate 18 I ripped it up in front of my children and threw it away. How sexy can you get? Happy Valentine’s Day. May someone vacuum for you too this year.
Unpack the Luggage, La, La, La (As seen on www.herrochester.com).
By Pam Sherman | January 30, 2011
I’ve been on the road every week since January 3rd for my consulting work, helping businesses energize their communications through the use of the Actor’s EDGE. I’ve been to Las Vegas, Dallas, Portland, OR, the Poconos and even, downtown Rochester. What a whirlwind. All this travel has got me thinking about packing and unpacking - literally and figuratively.
I’ve got the actual packing down to a science. Each time I go away I lay out my clothes, my work support items, computer, notes, books, and even my favorite bar of chocolate that I need to bring with me. In my head I go over where I have to be, what I want to wear and how I want to make a difference with my work and pack according to plan. I unpack from the last trip but keep certain things always packed since I know I’m leaving again. I factor in the weather and pack according to a well-honed formula with travel uniforms ready to go. (Traveling to Miami next week is throwing me off my game because I have to figure out the warm weather alternative to my travel uniforms.) I will admit I haven’t mastered the art of the teeny, tiny carry on, my carry-on meets the standards and stretches the rules all at the same time (sorry, airlines, I have to have my emergency choices of outfits).
But I’ve still got mental luggage I’ve got to unpack: fear of weather, or flight cancellations and/or delays - AND (the big suitcase in the room) - anxiety about what’s going on at home. Two things I can’t do anything about. Weather happens. Flights are delayed and cancelled and frankly THERE IS NOTHING TO DO ABOUT IT. Eventually you will get home. And the stuff going on at home?I’m not there. There is nothing I can do - nada. And yet, I still get calls while standing in airports far from home from my 14 year old, “What’s for dinner Mom?” Really? Open the fridge. Or my daughter, who forgot I was GONE, “Can you come pick me up?” Honey, I’m in Dallas. ”Oh I gotta go, bye.” Yup, I miss you too. I used to make meals and leave them in the fridge. Now I figure if they are hungry they will eat. And they have a father, he does it differently than I do, but he’s there and that’s just fine. (He makes them take the actual school bus instead of interrupting his work day to pick them up - MY HERO). When I can fully let go of the pit in my stomach that comes as soon as I hear about a school project due the week I’m away (who will buy the emergency poster board if I’m not around!?) and that weather is coming through Atlanta (any kind of weather, really doesn’t matter) I know I’ll have lightened my luggage load exponentially -LEAVING MORE ROOM FOR ANOTHER PAIR OF SHOES!!!!
(The Suburban Outlaw Meets the Rebel Jeweler in Portland, OR).
Subscribe to RSS Feed