Hello everyone! I still hope you are all healthy and sane. I know this is a sensitive time. Many of you have experienced loss and sadness and mourning. I send all of you comfort and love. I send all of you a “big girl” hug (because those are the best…) and now I hope I can make you all laugh. Laugh at me, laugh with me — at this point, does it really matter?!?!?
Here we go.
A couple of weeks ago, when it was okay to go to the supermarket and bump into someone who leaves their cart in the middle of the aisle, not paying any attention to anyone around them, I purchased some little cucumbers for husband #1. He doesn’t eat many vegetables, but he likes cucumbers. Probably because they have little or no nutritional value, but who really cares. I was all exited to come home and cut up these little guys for my darling Husband #1. I put them in a pretty bowl and sprinkled them with some kosher salt, just to give those boring little cucumbers a little zing. (Yes, in my house, kosher salt is the spice of choice.) My intentions were good and loving. Because nothing says “I love you” like a bowl of cut up cucumbers with some salt sprinkled on them. Needless to say, even though I thought the cucumbers tasted like half sour pickles (husband #1’s other vegetable of choice), he did not like them. Fine, whatever, I tried.
Fast forward to this past weekend. Son and DIL #1 went to their home for the weekend (with enough food to last them a couple of days — when they run out, they will, hopefully, be back) and it was just the core four. Me, Husband #1, Son #2, and Son #3. I made them a lovely shabbos meal, with side dishes and main dishes galore. I had again purchased the little cucumbers. I had also purchased half sour pickles, because I am always thinking of Husband #1. I took out a lovely bowl and cut up the cucumbers and the half sour pickles — they all looked pretty much the same — and I arranged them in the bowl. Nice, right? Husband #1’s two favorite vegetables in the same bowl.
The kitchen help brings everything out to the beautifully set table and the meal begins. The kitchen staff had to go into the kitchen to get something, and all of a sudden, Husband #1 yells, “Eww — you put salt on the cucumbers again!!!” The kitchen staff looked at Husband #1 and called him a bad name and then said, “It’s a half sour pickle!!!! Your favorite!!”
Okay, here is where I need you. Husband #1 thinks that his comment did not deserve the name I called him. I say he did deserve it because he overreacted about a pickle. A pickle. Bought with all of my love and devotion. A symbol of our almost 25 years together. A pickle.
Who do you think is right? No, really, I need your opinion of this.
The other problem was that DIL #1 wasn’t there, so the real me reared its desperately-in-need-of-hair-color head, and the symbolic pickle hit the fan. Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt him. I just ate all of the pickles myself.
I feel really blessed that I have had my boys home during this ridiculously isolating and indescribable time. Unfortunately, I have taken to wearing a name tag so the residents of my home know what to call me. “Maria” comes downstairs to vacuum the beit midrash. When I finished, Son #2 said, “You know at the yeshiva I go to, they vacuum at 2 a.m., when all of the boys are sleeping.” No, I didn’t take the vacuum and tell Son #2 where to put it, I finished the task at hand, cleaning up all of the empty water bottles, empty dishes, and banana peels, and went on my merry way.
I have watched the YouTube video of Andrea McArdle leading a chorus of “Tomorrow” and bawled my eyes out. So I watched it again. I now know the real names of many rabbis who are commentators on the Talmud or Torah or whatever it is that my boys are learning all day. And I am happy that everyone thought I was nuts before, because that is just getting worse.
Hang in there, kids, the sun will come out tomorrow, and hopefully, with God’s help, we will be able to go outside and enjoy it.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is also known as “Pepe,” “Julio,” and “Luiz.” She has also started talking to the family fish, “Moby,” a lot more than usual, because he is the only one who wants to listen to her.