Bridge traces its origins to the British game of whist, first played in the 16th century. It may be named for the Galata Bridge in Istanbul, which British soldiers crossed during the Crimean War of the 19th century to reach a coffeehouse where they played cards. For the first time since the inception of the game they have reconfigured the bidding. They have eliminated the NT bid from the options. So just bid the next suit up when Biden- ing. May you always find your 8 card fit. You are part of mine.Blessings abound.
To the belief that we can start believing we have leadership who will care about “Us” first. The feeling we were independent contractors thrown into the sea and having to find our own path home is nearly gone. Our swim to shore is rounding it’s last lap. Naysayers might offer the wishful thinking perspective that only time will tell. Just for today we choose to sigh relief, feel we discovered a map with clearcut directions toward the door, letting us out of the doom and gloom room and out of the dark. The ensemble of “our table” is a favorite allegory always offering who we choose to sit and break bread with. The Algonquin Roundtable was a group of New York City writers, critics, actors and wits. They met for lunch each day at The Algonquin Hotel from 1919 until roughly 1929. A favorite quote from Harold Ross, “ I asked Ring Lardner the other day how he writes his short stories, and he said he wrote a few widely separated words or phrases on a piece of paper and then went back and filled in the spaces.” Today we completed a chapter, the story is not over, but the writer’s block is gone. We can now assemble our table of choice, air out our sense of trust and hope we will never lose our way this far from home ever again.
As something to look forward to in a new normal fashion I will relish my time around a table. Shuffling cards and remembering to take the talon will bring back the tactile component that is essential to the game of play. In our Chicken Little the Sky is falling reality, we geared up the electronics, dialed into our familiar voices and brought the game auditorily alive. Yes, it gets us through, yes it connects us to “the what used to be’s.” In the absence of masks and gloves, we are comfortably sequestered in our game spot on the couch. We bring our own drinks and snacks and we click away. We miss faces, although it feels like two months have aged us in the mirror two years. Perhaps it is the hue and the palor of limping through the malady that has claimed the world. So just for today, with an additional increment of hope, let’s visit our closet, check out our earrings and remember the everything old is new again adage. In short order we can be bringing our own coffee, and snack packing our way around a real live deck of cards.
Recipe for long living, long ago. How many had grandparents who lived well into their 90’s? Maybe they knew Vic Tanny existed but they were too busy working hard, cooking and baking and smoking cigarettes to get to know him well.
Our Grandmother, (Bubby Chicken), for those in the know, led with an indomitable spirit. She had a startling ability to push unpleasant thoughts down the block and across the street. She was too busy to worry about what so and so said or thought. With rolling pin in hand and her grater not far away she filled part of her days. We often wondered if she slept with her apron on as it was ever present and the first thing we noticed when we ran in for her endless Hug.
We believe she was the prototype for the ”I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn high to fly” lyrics. So, noodle and or potato pudding, apple cake, rugalach with raisins and jelly and her famous candy bowl filled with hard candies were things we came to depend on. We never knew how we would make it to dessert as we were left stuffed with carbs, salt, schmaltz and gribenes(for those in the know.) And- just in case, she had her trustworthy mylanta, gaviscon- or “here mamala have a tums” waiting on the counter next to the left over flour and right under an old plant that still had the ribbon and card on it from last Mother’s Day.
In the absence of probiotics, papaya enzymes, lactaid free whatever’s, Pilates, colonoscopies, portion controls, calories counts on products, our grandmother and her friend’s lived forever.
Were their stomachs better equipped? Was it not considered abuse to reach for the sugar and go for the salt first? Perhaps endemic to generations long ago who focused less on Vit. D levels and more on how good Halavah tasted, whether it was marble or chocolate covered. The conundrum eludes us, how about you?
A three pronged example of a lifestyle fast forwarded is a workout on the treadmill, a bullet green shake and dashing off to have our blood work tested after a 50,000 unit Vitamin D regimen to pump up the numbers. Bub,we all miss the high caloric, straddled with confectioners sugar way you celebrated life. By the way thanks for palming us the good luck gelt every time we left your side.
Dear Kindly Dr. Fauci We get another chance The world is out here cheering To the tune of the Rain Dance Our chartered course has taken a detour back from-hell The streets are filled with cheering The announcement broke the spell A day for proclamations to lead with Science first We are on the road to better we’ve seen both sides of worse We hope you are out there hiking The mountains that you climb Filling up with endorphins Perhaps a glass of wine Take a bow Then take another We are waiting for the word You’ll have a new beginning to finally be heard We trust within short order you will be back on the scene Within the depth of brillance To help bring us a vaccine.
Melancholy and Marvelous and Dearly Missed. My mother loved FOOD! Shopping, unpacking, organizing the refrigerator, preparing, cooking, eating, wrapping leftovers, cleaning out the refrigerator, eating some more. She studied food and became a dietitian. Studied some more and with her masters degree was titled Nutritionist. Later on, at the age of 50, she got an M.S.W. in social work. Perhaps she wanted to figure out through research why food was always top of mind.
As kids we relied on radishes cleaned and in the original tupperware with salt and French dressing as an after school snack. Sometimes we opted for Buitoni Raviolis, yum as I think about it now.
We waited around and did homework until dinner, which was often something breaded, something fried with Le Seur Peas and a baked sweet potato. We looked forward to broiled baby lamp chops- we still do. The melody lingers on. Snowballs, hostess cupcakes, twinkies, drakes ring dings, yodels -yum and yum. Euphoric, gastronomic recall. Soph saved the Lindt Chocolate for her mj and card games.
As the culinary seed was planted I waited for it to sprout into my type of gastronmia. I too, love food. However, everything else around it feels equally as appealing. I have an extensive salt and pepper shaker collection. Varied, and meaningful pieces collected from places I’ve traveled to antiquing and gift’s from my niece’s, sister’s, friends and now grandchildren. – From places they’ve traveled to. So thoughtful, so cherished. A potpourri of antiques, silver, blown glass, handmade ceramics. Betty Boop and Harley Davidson sets hang out in my cabinet together. Dishes, silverware and amber glass represent my treasured items. Flowers and table settings add to the allure of our meals. My collection of soupcons (fancy serving ladles) were fun finds.
Shopping for the ingredients at outdoor markets and researching who has the best mozzarella and filet mignon, a fun past time. Aligning the seats for comfort and space adds to the canvas. I make sure the creases in the napkins are well pressed and the water glass is properly situated. Once the candles are lite, I get dressed. With the the ice set up on the bar and lemon and lime slices cut, it is now show time. As the final touches are in place, all the while I have the oven on, the flames on low and I check my “something breaded, something fried.“ I learned from The Best.
Dear Kindly Dr. Fauci You told it like it is To the buffoon who’s in there packing And face we’ll never miss Our world will turn the corner, when Joe and Jill are in the house We are mixing up our outfit To usher out this louse Counting down the minutes, until Nov. 3rd When we get to say good riddens to this consummate of Turds Our yoga we’ll continue, meditate away our fear With prayers hopefully answered We’ll focus on next year Batons and bags of glitter, are waiting at the door Good-bye to President Ratchet No longer for 4 more.