Baile Rochel #4 Hey, Diddle Diddle

Baile Rochel’s Back! #4
The 16th of Nissan
April 25, 2005

…and the dish ran away with the spoon

When my kids were little, I used to read them a story about life in a toy department of a big department store. When the store was closed and there were neither customers nor staff, the toys came to life.

I think that my possessions have similar powers. We all know about agunah socks, deserted by their partners, cursed to a life either hidden and waiting, or to be used as rags or miss-matched to keep my feet warm. It seems like everyone has collections of socks without partners. I wonder if they have support groups like the veteran “Parents Without Partners.” Some of those found in my home must think it a “shelter,” like for abused wives. My house must have some reputation. Why else would I constantly find new “singles?” Or are they characters in a great romantic drama, giving up everything for their true love, a sexy sock waiting to rendezvous in the sock drawer? I wonder what types of shenanigans go on between socks. Maybe that’s why Israelis, who never quite learn English vowels, pronounce it “seks.”

I get an email newsletter for would-be writers that includes a “prompt” to inspire the inexperienced writer to greater creative heights. Maybe I should send them: “Counting didn’t help; the ten socks, five matching pairs, emerged from the washing machine as nine socks, three pairs and three without partners, because…”

Every year there are surprises of sorts when I take out my Passover dishes, pots and cooking tools. This year I kept searching for pots; I was sure that I had more meat ones. I even climbed up into the attic an extra time and searched among all the boxes and piles draped with old shower curtains. Finally I remembered that I had given one to a son when he was in the army. And where was the other? Or maybe I’m just fanaticizing?

I confided in a friend who then revealed that her Pesach picnic containers weren’t to be found, anywhere, and they had a special cabinet all their own. Suddenly it was clear—they had eloped with my pot. Must be; nothing else makes sense.

And as the cooking for the final day of Pesach progresses, I’m dreading packing it all up again and putting away all the Pesach things. Because that means that we’ll have to find all of the “chametz” things that are used the rest of the year. Last year it took weeks until everything was found. And even though I bought much less matzah than in previous years, there is no way that we’ll ever finish it. Last year’s leftover matzah was dumped just days before this year’s Seder.

Considering all that’s going on in this world, it’s nice to have such norishkeit to fiddle about.

… as the cow jumps over the moon,

Baile Rochel
Copyright©2005BatyaMedad, Contact me for publication permission; private distribution encouraged.