MY BROTHER'S KEEPER . . .

I have this thing ... I have this thing where I feel responsible for every bad thing that happens, every misunderstanding that transpires, every ill feeling that arises, every event that doesn't go just the way it's supposed to. At least in my sphere of people and occurrences. Not for things like the war in Iraq or the tornado in Kentucky, although those things are wretched and I wish for such pain and suffering to also disappear.

But it's just this: I hate seeing people sad, mad, upset, frustrated, unhappy, disappointed. I hate it even more when I know that one whom I love is sad because of, mad at, upset at, frustrated because of, unhappy about, disappointed in another one whom I love. When I see these things, I feel the desperate need to fix them. Or at least to apologize profusely for them, even though I personally have neither direct nor indirect involvement in causing them.

Some might call it compassion. But given the stomach ache roiling my gut, the anxious butterflies in my heart, and the furrow in my brow that even Omma's loving fingers could not smooth away, I'm wondering if it's a little less compassion and a little too much martyr/saviour complex. I hate the attitude of "I wash my hands of it" that plagues so many of us, but perhaps there is a time and a place for it ...

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FANCY . . .

I went to the fanciest birthday party today. It topped any bat- or bar-mitzvah I ever attended (disclaimer: my bat- and bar-mitzvah attending days were yet in the 80s, when folks did not spend $50,000 on the party, which now might include a special appearance by Usher, aboard a luxury yacht that cruised around Manhattan island, with goodie bags containing platinum jewelry).

There were cotton tablecloths, real-not-paper linens, an ice sculpture, a three-tier birthday cake, heavy silverware, an open bar, floral centerpieces, a guestbook at the sign-in table at the entrance to the party hall, and a top-level buffet spread. About 70 adults (and a large smattering of children) really enjoyed ourselves; it was so great to just relax, eat, gossip, catch up, reunite with old friends, remark on how fast the kids were growing up, and to enjoy the generosity of our hosts.

In fact, it was all quite nice ... even if the birthday boy was just turning 1.

Dang, we don't do things like we used to, huh?