My First Blah Blah Blahg.
By Pam Sherman | September 25, 2007
So this is it – my first blog – I mean blah, blah, blahg. I have resisted the temptation of writing something every day because I fear that my writing will be inane (and grammatically incorrect). I resisted - until today. And so, I welcome you to my own personal cornfield. My hope is both to amuse you and keep my sanity in the process.
I’ll start with a tale of Yom Kippur. For those of you who don’t understand this holiday is the Jewish Day of Atonement - a day of punishing fasting, finished off with a punishing meal of lox and bagels. This year I was possessed by the Ghost of Yom Kippour’s Past when I decided to host my first “Break Fast.” Thinking I was feeding 28 people I bought and prepared food for 100.
This was after a week of being sick from food poisoning - Salmonella. My mother has screamed at me for years, “Wash your hands you’ll get SALMONELLA.” (I wish you could hear her say this with her New Yawk accent and her shrill scream.) We always teased her that she must mean Sal Mineo, and you can’t catch him he’s already dead. Well I got Salmonella from a bad frozen yogurt or something and spent the entire week before Yom Kippur down for the count. The beauty of this was I did not have to actually fast on Yom Kippour - the wrath of God came down upon me a little early this year. I will say I was much sorrier this year and prayed that much harder but still my illness did not stop me from BUYING ENOUGH FOOD TO FEED ALL OF ISRAEL.
I failed to account for the fact that 15 of the 28 people were under the age of 12. They eat like two bites of a bagel, a half of a knish, and a pickle. What was I to do with the 2lbs of white fish, the 2lbs of lox, the two noodle puddings, the vat of herring in sour cream, the egg, tuna, and white fish salad, the 3 dozen bagels, and the aweomse lox pizza brought by a friend who owns the best pizza place in town. And I haven’t even mentioned the table groaning with deserts. By the way, of the remaining 13 people three did not show up leaving only 10 people to eat all the aforementioned food. Needless to say they did not make a dent.
Now what am I supposed to do wtih all this food? No homeless shelter wants my vat of pickled herring. And it all seems so unseemly in this day and age of people starving in Darfur. Why do we end a mere 25 hours of fasting with an obscene amount of food? Because this is how it’s done. We are products of our past and it was like I was possessed (and really tired from the food poisoning).
I’m hopeful that I’ve learned my lesson - somehow there must be a lesson here, between the food poisoning, fasting, and feasting some higher power was telling me that I should stick to a diet of moderation this year. Denial is a good thing - except in therapy.
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December 22nd, 2007 at 6:55 pm
Guess you should go to your brother’s instead…