Tackling Hebrew

After watching a TED talk from the founder of Duolingo, I thought this might be the time to learn some modern Hebrew.  I've become proficient, though hardly mastered, liturgical and Biblical Hebrew.  Repetition at services with commentary from the Rabbi and glancing at translation when I did not really want to follow the Hebrew text added vocabulary.  When I do a Torah or Haftarah reading, I always review the translation, if only to have the chanting of the Hebrew text make sense to those in attendance who have auditory comprehension of the language.  But conversational Hebrew, not even close.  I've been to Israel and had to gesture when asking directions.  I've downloaded Israeli FM Radio on my smartphone but haven't a clue over what is being said.  And now that Israel is at war, messages in Hebrew that I cannot read appear in my from Twitter and FB a few times a day.

Duolingo seems to be a hybrid of educational enterprise and hi tech company.  They have an underlying purpose, enabling people in economically disadvantaged regions to enhance their employability by learning English mostly, or in other places Spanish or French as a parallel language to the dominant one.  Having now been a tourist in a few places where English is not the lingua franca and on cruise ships, employment in the enterprises servicing the tourists is difficult if there is no ability to communicate with English speakers.  But Duolingo offers other languages including Hebrew.  They also have incentive systems borrowed from other social media companies to keep people attracted to their screens.  They advertise consecutive day streaks in particular, along with countdown clocks.

Getting started had its bumps.  Sign on easy.  Since many language learners really don't start as true newbies, they try to assess baseline skill.  For Hebrew I had pretty much all the introductory vocabulary understood.  Grammar and sentence structure was not seriously lacking.  So I did OK, not a new learner.  The exercises are a mixture of reading and translating from one language to another.  And they include writing.  Now big snafu.

They read a sentence and asked me to type it.  My keyboard is not set for Hebrew.  I just tried to move on.  After two sessions their algorithm declared me unprepared.  It terminated my session.  It cancelled my consecutive days of learning streak.  No incentive to come back. 😠

I sent Duolingo customer service a note.  No response.  A not entirely friendly email the next day, not assisting me but taking a poke at how my consecutive day streak had been lost.😠

There is a rational me that controls the emotional me.  The best adaptation would be to just enable my keyboard to type Hebrew.  It's not straightforward, but probably within my capacity.

Mingling

Weekly planning usually occurs on Sunday mornings at my upstairs desk where I keep pens and highlighters of multiple colors.  Yontif postponed this session by until Monday, though I knew I had a special opportunity to assuage senior loneliness by immersing myself in different groups on consecutive days. 

1. Sunday: Simchat Torah Services at my synagogue
2. Monday: Platelet donation at Blood Bank
3. Tuesday:  OLLI Class
4. Wednesday: Philadelphia Endocrine Society
5. Thursday: Morning minyan at my synagogue
6. Friday: Two OLLI Classes
7. Saturday: Services at my synagogue

And toss in a flu shot at my pharmacy.

Mostly mixed result, colored perhaps by strains with people scripted differently than me about atrocities in Israel.  By I did my best to keep cordial and to interact, if not mingle.  Candid, not fully friendly comments are still forms of interaction, which is really the week's agenda.

Scorecard:

Simchat Torah experience somewhat above expectation.  Not a lot of me there, about 18 or so.  Hakafot shared with women, who were much less in number.  Songs selected by Cantor surpassed the Hebrew school ditties that I had come to expect.

Platelet donation proceeded smoothly.  Screening questions changed a bit.  My trip to France within the previous month did not disqualify me.  I watched Netflix home design show, actually four half-hour episodes.  No clogging of line, one minor reposition of needle.  Quick stop at canteen for my usual.  Afterward, stopped at Cabela's.  Saw nothing to buy.  Opted not to go out for lunch.

OLLI Class caused some friction.  I am not overly fond of the way the instructor presents the class.  Teaching us about "good people on both sides " amid asymmetric intentional atrocities while using the Muslim Brotherhood talking points did not reflect well on his intellect.  And his not well received analysis extended the class twenty minutes past closing time.  But I did make a YouTube Video of what I thought and he will not be happy with at least one of his student feedback reports.

Before driving to Philadelphia I had a very stimulating session at OLLI given by an expert.   I tried to extract more of his expertise at the end, creating some discord in the process.  But the Being with People initiative did not come until the end of the day.  I had not been to a Philadelphia Endocrine Society session live since Covid, and not at all in a couple of years.  I even did not pay my annual dues last year, but resumed this summer.  The live sessions had been reassigned to a less accessible location, but are now back to a place to which I am used to driving, as long as it is not very often.  My Waze App meant well, anticipating rush hour bottlenecks.  It tried to bypass one near my home by directing me north for two entrances to access the interstate.  Then manageable traffic.  Ordinarily it would take me to a main road that goes pretty much directly to my destination, though with a lot of traffic lights.  Instead, it exited me just past PHL Airport, directing me through some thoroughfares I do not remember ever driving on before.  I got to see the remotest of the PHL parking options and large swaths of the airport at its farthest reaches where private corporate and other non-airline jets take off and land.  Eventually return to the interstate, this time with a lot of other cars.  It took me to a highway divide where I had to change lanes on short notice, then through Philadelphia's Historical district, a place of very slim one-way streets, but at least in a recognizable grid. Got me to the parking garage where the gate failed.  After a few calls on the intercom, an employee let me in, providing me what would turn out to be a defective ticket trying to leave.

Not many people that I knew at the meeting.  A couple of old friends, friendly greetings to some new introductions.  Beverage server lives near me, taking the same roads and bottlenecks, so we had a short chat about that.  Outstanding lecture on hypoparathyroidism.

Route home by Waze also not what I expected.  Were I to commute by car to Center City, I'd probably get used to it, even in the dark for much of the year.  One time, I had to keep my attention focused on traffic, stopped delivery trucks, and some interstate access points that the civil engineers could have considered better, but once on the highway past a rather long and eerie on-ramp, getting home went smoothly.

Morning minyan takes place every Thursday at 9AM.  I was curious about who would go.  The usual suspects, those inner circle men and one other.  I was seven.  We got nine, but needed ten.  The new Rabbi really wanted to repeat the Amidah and read Torah that morning.  He summoned the lady in the kitchen, declaring it a fast day due to Israel atrocities and obviating her the task of making coffee or setting out donuts.  In its place she was placed in a sanctuary seat.  Then he repeated the Amidah, read Torah, did kaddish, all the parts that our tradition requires us to have ten men.  Nobody said anything.  At the end, the President asked me a few things about my trip to France, with another fellow joining in.  I had scheduled a flu vaccine that morning, so excused myself.

While I got to Walgreens in time for my appointment, the line at the pharmacy counter was long. The pharmacists and technicians seemed overwhelmed by volume, not only at the counter but also the drive-thru, and what was coming their way from online customers.  These folks were not trained by Disney MBAs who understand enough throughput to keep lines flowing.  My turn came, my deltoid got injected, and I roamed the aisles for the next fifteen minutes as the pharmacist had asked me to stay on site for safety.  Then home.  And a Zoom course on thermodynamics followed.

Friday morning I have two OLLI classes, the National Parks first, The Common Man to follow.  I made my own coffee, keeping it hot in a thermal mug given to me by a pharmaceutical company in the days when they gave doctors various reminders of which drug the companies wanted us to prescribe to the max. I got there just as the first presentation was to begin.  There is a half hour break between the two morning sessions.  I sat at a table for a while, sat on the patio for a while.  Did not mingle.

For shabbos morning the two casting directors assigned me two parts.  I would lead shacharit, which I do frequently.  And I would chant the Haftarah, an invitation that is rather infrequent.  I prepared the Prophetic portion to decent fluency.  The morning worship I do not prepare at all.  Instead, since I am already fluent, I select two tunes to insert that differ from what I had done the last time, usually the last two times.  And so I did.  Rabbi read Torah.  And when the Rabbi reads Torah, a congregant gives the sermon about the Torah portion.  Despite being a participant, I did not feel inspired.  A few handshakes along the way, mostly of a protocol variety.  Kiddush banter makes or breaks the morning experience.  I drove home broken.

When corporations and other employers try to boost morale and engagement of their staff, they take a number of approaches.  Look at the good our organization has done in its history would be one direction.  It seems to give a transient boost.  The strongest, though, comes from testimonials people receive as feedback for the benefits their personal efforts provided.  My congregation approaches zero.  There are influencers who matter and consumers who don't.  I'm a consumer.  I could say the same about the Endocrine Society.  As much as I enjoyed the session along with the minor adventure of driving each way, I wasn't a contributor.  But platelets, while often physically uncomfortable in the donation chair squeezing a rubber ball and watching Netflix, the people at the donor center are really appreciative of having donors who come on a regular basis.  I never see the platelet recipients, only sample pictures of kids on chemotherapy, but I know somebody somewhere is better off for the three hours between leaving my house and returning home.

While the intent was to be with people more than in most weeks, and I succeeded, those experiences mostly made me a taker.  The challenge is not only to be a person of genuine value, as platelet donors are, but to matter beyond the protocol handshakes.  I did in small ways.  Leading worship offered some thought and effort that made our synagogue a place where traditional services are executed by men of proficiency.  At the flu shot, I chatted with a lady behind me in line who may have been less lonely from the interaction.  I challenged the teachers at each of the OLLI sections. That might have advanced their perspectives on their subjects beyond what they would figure out for themselves.

So it is not so much inserting oneself into the herd as having that herd take a better form because they let me in it.  I think it did.

Meeting New People

Shabbos brought me to a different environment.  We have a secondary congregation, one which permits my wife and many other very talented women to enhance worship with their skills publicly displayed.  She usually goes alone, at one time leaving early to attend a pre-service class of outstanding quality with their now retired Rabbi.  His successor, a young man of immense potential, does not conduct a class before services so she gets to leave a little later.  I really did not want to be at my home congregation but I had stayed home the shabbos before.  Ordinarily my wife makes the 45-minute round trip alone, but this time I opted to go with her, driving each way, having lunch with her sister.  I even completed my scheduled treadmill session right after coffee, to allow enough travel time.

Sometimes you have to experience upwards.  If I want to enhance my wardrobe, I tour the upscale men's department.  If I want to upgrade my home, I visit a restored mansion.  And if I want to experience what shabbos might be at its best, I sidestep the Chief Influencer at my home congregation to be with different people.  Works every time.

The shabbos morning my wife seeks out is really a parallel service of a large USCJ congregation.  Over the years, the USCJ affiliates have struggled with their top-down leadership models.  They are still highly dependent on clergy for performance, abridgment of liturgy in response to congregational feedback or attendance data, and to some extent a need to have events, including a Bat Mitzvah this shabbos in the main sanctuary.  There is a grassroots, though.  There is also a large building with places other than the main sanctuary that have Torah scrolls and seating.  This congregation had that critical mass of talent intersecting interest, creating their unabridged, really less abridged, option.  And talent was on display.  No Rabbi.  No Cantor.  Each portion prepared and executed by a member of their subset minyan, all done expertly.

Having been there before, though infrequently, there were people I knew, though very few by name without a prompt from their congregational name tag worn by few, and virtually none as people with jobs, families, or avocations.  It is customary to shake hands with those who were honored or performed, which I did.  Roughly the same formality as shaking hands with my Senator, which I've done many times.  And the same formality of handshakes at my home congregation with people I do know.  It's protocol.  Occasionally sincerity, though usually protocol.  The service proceeded through its specified portions.  They gave me Aliyah #6, the longest one of that parsha, followed by the next longest, which kept me at the scroll for a while.  My wife did the Haftarah with great expertise.  The Sermon was by a congregant, some controversial content that a Rabbi would probably not tackle.  And the service ended.  Talesim folded.  Books returned to their shelves.

As we came in round tables with red tablecloths and chairs filled the kiddush area and extended out into the lobby.  A few sky blue tables where people could nibble while standing stood in small nooks at the edges of what the caterer had set up.  The main service had a bat mitzvah, with all in attendance invited for a buffet luncheon.  Making my way to their auditorium, as the main service and mine concluded at about the same time, I placed my maroon velvet tallis bag at one of the many empty spaces, the first at its table.  My wife put hers next to mine.  There were probably a couple of hundred worshipers that shabbos morning, maybe forty at my chapel, the rest in the main sanctuary.  The caterers were pros.  They set up multiple stations, three for serious eating, one for beverages, one for dessert, and one for ritual.  I started with kiddush, selecting about 30ml of grape juice, then washed hands, and took a slice of presliced challah.  The line to the food had begun to accumulate at all stations.  To promote community, the congregation created name tags for their members, kept in an alphabetized rack along the edge of the wall.  People with black lanyards and a tag were members, including the fellow behind me on the food line.  I commented on the elegance of what they had, the building, the volume of members, the diversity of ages of people present.  Very different from my usual surroundings with a forty seat chapel area and everyone on Medicare.  They had increased membership by a hundred or so households, mostly young families, attracted by their new Rabbi.  Kiddush food itself was actually very similar to what we serve on an expanded sponsored kiddush.  Bagels of different types, better than what we have locally. and pre-sliced.  Small portions in plastic of soft cream cheese, though no lox.  Fish bins with tuna and whitefish salads.  Egg salad.  Three salads, lettuce with beets, caprese, Caesar, all pre-dressed.  Roasted vegetables.  A sweet noodle kugel.  Two lines per table, Army style, moved quickly.  By the time I returned, the other seats at my table had occupants, also with full plates.  The two men next to me had suits without name tags.  Nobody with a name tag had a suit.  They were each guests of the Bat Mitzvah.  One lived in a different suburb, the other about a hundred miles to the west.  Both shared my awe with what we experienced before us.  After finishing my plate, which took a while, my wife escorted me to the dessert table where two people from our service were at an adjacent stand-up table.  She introduced me to them.  I had contacted one earlier in the week to offer a name for their misheberach list.  He had a car identical to my wife's, model and color, not sure about year.  He was apparently a journalist, an editor in the regional Jewish media.  Desserts not a lot different than at my home kiddush.  I took a cake and a brownie.  Then onward to my sister-in-law's.

Meeting new people often goes better as a visitor.  At my own place and at Chabad, I recognize everyone there most Shabbatot.  A few I keep my distance, a few I seek out for conversation.  Which depends pretty much on prior experience.  Few approach me.  Visitors are infrequent, and Rabbi has dibs on approaching them.  But as I relearned, different environments assemble different people.  Friday night on a cruise ship will invariably bring worshipers with their stories to tell, whether Messianics or couples from places where we share mutual acquaintances.  Visiting this synagogue brought me into proximity with some very skilled women who could thrive there but would be sent off to prepare kiddush at my place if the Women of Influence would tolerate unfamiliar women in the kitchen.  People had name tags, which could be an icebreaker.  Some people were dressed to the nines.  Those are Bar Mitzvah guests.  Small talk comes easily:  hometown, the food, relation to the hosts for the visitors.  For their regulars where I am the stranger, I become the figure of curiosity.  

Though I know everyone in my sanctuary, I often find it a place that makes the underlying loneliness so common to seniors more apparent.  People have already told their stories, watched the teams during the week, and don't often seem to do interesting things or have thoughts of anything really worth either an amusing or even an inquisitive response.  Not so when I worship among the less familiar.  I'll have to go again, next time as one of their volunteers.  And be more assertive to take better advantage of my own place's experience and people.

Making Lasagna

By now I've accumulated my staple dishes, those things that I make once and serve multiple meals, usually with the help of a freezer.  Macaroni & Cheese in the style of Horny Hardart, crock pot stew, chicken cacciatore, often a turkey, and lasagna in the style of Artscroll.  Most have multiple ingredients, are made in large cooking utensils, require measuring devices, and have multiple ingredients that need to be set out and often mixed in an appliance.  Every one of them worth the effort with enjoyable products that repeat over several dinners.  Every one of them requires several sessions at my sink to wash all the equipment used, then was all the dinner dishes used to consume them along with the rest of those meals.

So it went with my most recent lasagna.  Not a lot of ingredients.  Some oregano and black pepper.  No measuring spoons, just a palm estimate. Spinach.  I used to drain in a colander.  With experience I just squeeze out handfuls from the thawed bag and dump into the bowl as I go until there is no more.  Pour out the residual water and place the plastic packaging into the kitchen garbage container.  Rinse my hands. An egg.  Crack into the bowl, mix gently with a fork that will be a multipurpose utensil.  Three types of cheese.  Cottage cheese just gets dumped into the mixing bowl with the spinach, egg, and spices.  The tub and its lid need washing before either recycling or repurposing.  I used a blend of mozzarella and cheddar this time.  A pound of mozzarella.  Get out a plate, a knife, the food processor with its shredding disc.  With a sharp knife, bisect the square of cheese so it fits in the processor's feed tube.  Shred each half, transfer to mixing bowl.  Moist mozzarella does not shred cleanly.  It made a sticky mess with strands adhering to each other, which is why I shredded it before the cheddar.  Using mostly my fingers, transfer that blob to a stainless steel mixing bowl.  Then clean off residual mozzarella from the processor and its disc, putting that into the mixing bowl.  Shredding cheddar goes more easily.  It comes as a rectangle that fits into the processor's feeding tube.  On same plate, with same knife, cut about two thirds of it and shred.  That cleans the disc somewhat.  Leave the shredded cheese in the processor bowl.  Then separately, with my hands, move about half the mozzarella and half the cheddar into the mixing bowl with the cottage cheese.  Normally I blend all the ingredients, which becomes the filling, with a fork and some effort.  No go with the sticky mozzarella.  My right hand and its fingers made a much better blending too.  Squish a few minutes and I had a reasonably uniformly distributed mixture of cottage cheese, mozzarella, cheddar, and spinach with the egg, oregano, and black pepper along for the ride.

Lasagna needs a lasagna pan.  I have two.  Picked the older uncoated one.  Spray with generic Pam.  Now some sauce.  I had one partially open.  Usually I use a new jar, sometimes run a little over, so the extra is always good to have.  A layer of sauce on the bottom of the lasagna pan.  Arrange noodles, it takes five to cover the pan.   Then half the cheese-spinach mixture over that.  When less experienced, I used to spoon it out.  Now I take about half out of the bowl with my hands and spread it evenly by punching it down with my fist, much like I often do with an olive oil quiche crust that does not roll well but comes out as a blob.   Then some more sauce.  This I spread with a fork.  Another layer of noodles, rest of cheese-spinach mixture, punch down.  Then about half the remaining sauce spread with a fork.  Then another layer of noodles.  Then another layer of sauce, which used up the jar, forcing me into the reserved partially used other jar.  The top with rest of mozzarella.  By now, sitting in the steel bowl, it was no longer shredded in an easy to distribute way.  I made little balls of about three quarters of it, patterned it evenly over the sauce surface, then distributed the rest of the cheddar whose strands did not adhere to each other.  Then the remaining mozzarella into little balls, distributed in any gaps.  Since the noodles are not precooked, it needs some liquid.  The now empty sauce jar got about a third filled with water, then poured over the now assembled lasagna.  Cover with foil, bake at 350F for 80 minutes, remove foil halfway.   It was good.  Always a little different each time I make it, as I vary the types of cheeses, their proportions, and the flavor of jarred sauce with each preparation.

With experience, I was able to minimize dishwashing.  No measuring devices.  Not a lot of forks and spoons.  One sharp knife to cut the cheese.  Food processor did not use the chopping blade.  The disc was a sticky mess with mozzarella residual in the cutting grates.  It emulsifies easily with dishwashing liquid and washes away with rather hot water.  A sink spray works well.  The clear plastic fitted feed tube pusher had ridges on its surface that coated with mozzarella.  Little scrub, hot rinse.  Processor bowl housed mainly shredded cheddar.  Not hard to wash.  Processor top posed the biggest challenge.  Its injector molding gave it different areas with narrow plastic channels where both types of cheese accumulated.  I had to dislodge some of these with a sharp knife, then wedge the kitchen cleaning pad into small surfaces pretreated with detergent, then was away with hot water by sink spray.  The cheese got dislodged adequately this way.  The steel bowl had only mozzarella which did not stick tenaciously to it.  Simple wash with detergent and rinse.  Plate on which cheese was cut, just ordinary dishwashing.  And glass bowl that house the mixed filling took some effort.  The cottage cheese and spinach particles dried.  Before it could be scrubbed clean it had to be soaked.  While it had only broad, round surfaces, no channels like the processor top, getting it fully cleaned took a few steps.  And a quick wash of the cottage cheese container and sauce jar before they go into the next recycling pickup.  But all done.

Much of this effort has gotten easier over time with experience and with some experimentation.  I probably will not use more than half mozzarella again.  It's just much harder to incorporate than is shredded cheddar, and harder to clean up.  No colander, no measuring cups and spoons. Always have some spare sauce available.  Maybe a little less water at the end.

My wife and I eat about 25% per meal.  From the pan the first night.  Second night, take another quarter, put in second small frying pan and heat in oven.  At same time divide the remaining half into two rectangles.  Wrap each with foil, label, and freeze for the following week.  Then wash the lasagna pan.  We have four very good meals.  Some cleanup required, but with experience and planning it has become less excessive.

Degreasing

Have some serious cleaning that I need to do, while I am still motivated to do it. Efforts to engage a cleaning service have not succeeded. Gone are the days of Cameo Homes of the 1960s where everyone's mother could tap into a network of thorough and personable cleaning ladies from Spring Valley who would come each week for a fixed sum, lunch, and transportation round-trip. Now we have crews that have websites with their own logo cars who are done by lunchtime.  They follow a checklist in lieu of the homeowner guiding what needs to be done most. To degrease kitchen cabinets  and appliances on my own I have baking soda. For some sturdier objects with serious buildup, the online sources recommend ammonia. None for sale at Shop-Rite or Target cleaning sections. Went to Lowe's. Online said they had it. Did not find it on shelf. Went to customer service. They looked it up, but I had to spell it for them. It has two M's. They directed me to aisle and shelf, just what their computerized inventory list said. None there. All stores have chemical concoctions, toxic blends done by graduated chemistry majors who probably did not excel at Science Fair. Lots of glass cleaners. Lots of all-purpose cleaners with big mark-ups at all stores. No ammonia anywhere. They have vinegar with the cooking products and at Lowe's, where they had industrial concentration vinegar not suitable for a salad.

Why? Online tells me there is an ammonia shortage. Has been since 2022. Supply chain and regulatory problem. I assume the P&Gs and DuPonts who need it to blend with other products can still get it, though at a premium that they recoup on the end products. Small consumers like me that want their tea kettles and chandeliers to sparkle have to use the more toxic stuff.

My Teams

It's been a good season.  Phils are competitive in post-season.  Iggles difficult to beat. Mizzou at its highest national ranking and most consistent performances in memory.  Not so sure about UPenn.  U of D ranked in its football class.

Red Smith, the iconic sports reporter of the NY Times, commented that while sports doesn't move the world, how people choose to allocate the time that is most theirs says a lot about the people.  And we fill stadiums, support sports networks, pay pro athletes handsomely, and buy the products we see advertised during our games.

And Red Smith flourished in a more congenial world than we have now.  Or sometimes not, as his long career spanned a depression, a world war, civil rights antagonisms including integration of sports, and Vietnam.  

In our fractious time, a decade when people provoke each other, seeking constant one-upmanship with the person next to them, our home teams may be the last bastion of common purpose.  We seek to best rivals, for sure, but we also recognize the excellent talents of stars from all teams.  Those no-hitters get a cheer, even at the expense of our own team.  While viewing the games, we don't particularly care about an athlete's ethnicity, only his performance.  And while we work hard but fear for our longevity with our companies, they accept the transient nature of their team affiliations, either displacement by a better talent, graduation from school, or the free agency of athletic mercenaries.  The players are really like us, though usually more so.

There are rivalries, for sure.  A few approach toxic:  Yankees-Red Sox, Cowboys-most any other reputable NFL squad, Harvard-Yale, Oklahoma-Oklahoma State.  But no credible threats to personal safety.  Despite this, stadiums ban weapons and items like umbrellas that can be converted to means of assault.  And we have a safe space where the many open carry advocates never seem to sue to keep their pistol with them in their skybox.  

For a few scheduled events, several a week in most major cities, people don't have to be prodded to be good municipal representatives.  They already are.

Gardening's Late Season

This has been a dud of a garden.  One cucumber, A few tomatoes.  Pretty decent string bean growth.  Green vines and leaves everywhere, overflowing to square feet not intended for them.  Edibles minimal.  My outdoor pots of herbs did not do any better, except for rosemary which thrives.  And I took down my aerogarden, disinfected each component with diluted bleach, and started over with six new herbs.  Even my chia triad is down to its last basil.  I don't know the reason for such poor performance.  For sure, I am not dedicated to tending each planting, going out to the backyard a couple of times a week to week and nourish.  I'm not even committed to harvesting on schedule.  Tomato plants take up more than one square.  They need a cage, not the commercial plastic stakes, to keep them upright.  And beans need regular harvest.  No clue as to why peppers, eggplant, and so many variations of lettuce never produce anything to bring to my kitchen table. Root vegetables unrealistic as weed block beneath the soil would not allow unlimited downward growth.

Culinary herbs in outdoor pots have more promise.  Basil grows.  Chives less so.  Parsley a great disappointment.  Dill and sage seem to do better in my vegetable garden.  Mint, which grows like a weed because it fundamentally is a weed, died in its pot overnight, suggesting some infestation or exposure to an herbicide from our lawn crew.  Mint has to stay in pots for containment.

Chia in my hands only grows basil reliably.  The hydroponic aerogarden also grows basil reliably, so abundant a root system as to crowd out the other five plant cylinders.

The mid-fall season still leaves me pumpkins to check on, but it's really time to uproot what will no longer grow.  Square foot has 32 squares, clean eight a day.  There is a supplemental section that can be turned over, as uprooting everything there is unrealistic.  The deck has three flower boxes that can have their plant remains removed.  For the pots, protect the rosemary indoors this year when it gets a bit colder.  Harvest what can be salvaged, maybe some basil, sage, and parsley for shabbos dinner.  Pluck everything else.  Plant something in the two remaining chia pots and add some diluted fertilizer.  And see how the new aerogarden herbs turn out.  Replace the dead bulb, consider getting their fertilizer pods which worked better than what I use now.

It really becomes how committed I am to having my own sources of herbs when I want them and the sensory superiority of produce from my own garden.  I am willing to do some effort, though not an extreme, focused amount.