Seasonal Clothing Exchange

Living in the mid-Atlantic, weather cycles.  It freezes when the calendars say it should.  Water to the outside faucets shut down to avoid expensive plumbing repairs.  Having reached a stable height and weight decades ago, and for many of them needing to look presentable at work most days, a lot of clothing has accumulated.  As much as I donate unwanted, and sometimes ill-fitting items to Goodwill or to the charity bins in store parking lots, I still own more garments than I actually wear.  Twice a year, typically October 10 and April 10 with modifications for shabbos and yontif that might appear on those dates, I transfer winter to summer.  Last fall, I packed a duffel, a carry-on, and a box that originally carried 90-kcups with shorts, polo shirts, and t-shirts.  Maybe some summer pajamas too.  At one time I used a plastic clothing storage bag, one with a vacuum port to suck out the air.  Those never held the vacuum, often tore, and did not transport easily from My Space to the bedroom when the exchange date arrived.  If I even have another of these, I would have to look for it somewhere in the recesses of My Space.  

Despite doing this twice a year, I don't really know if I have more winter stuff or summer clothing.  Winter items have more bulk, but I probably own fewer of them.  T-shirts, which fill that K-Cup box, come my way in various ways.  Sometimes I see a logo that I like in a store at a great price.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles appear on many.  Often, I receive one as a promotion, donating platelets, or doing some group charitable effort.  I have my favorite universities that tell others where I have been.  Not so many souvenir t-shirts from where I have traveled.  When I buy one of these, which I often do, they become gifts, rarely additions to my own wardrobe.

Collared polo shirts have also become a staple, short-sleeved in summer, long in winter.  The long-sleeved variety have very few logos, but the short-sleeved options include team emblems and university swag.

Shorts get stored in a plastic cubby, one occupied by a neatly folded pile of cashmere items slowly accumulated as bargains get too good to pass up, though rarely worn.  Shorts get worn every day.  Mostly solid, some plaid.  My inventory includes significant cargo style representation.  These were once more popular than they are now, but I find them useful.  I also wear long slacks in all seasons.  Those stay in my closet, even the rarely worn woolen ones that need dry cleaning.  They just do not take up a lot of space.  My dress clothing does, most of which I wear only to synagogue.  Anything wool goes to the back of the closet, lighter fabrics I wear, then hang by a loop on a downstairs over the closet hanger.  Eventually I will have about three on that rack, which I rotate for synagogue wear, though increasingly I attend in shirtsleeves with a long-sleeved dress shirt and tie.  But often I will wear a plain upper quality collared polo under a light jacket.  I never go to services wearing just the polo.

Among my shoes, only the sandals are really summer seasonal, and not often worn. I have boots and insulated shoes for going out in the snow, rarely worn.  Those stay in the closet.  

This year, I may move winter coats upstairs to the closet in My Space.  They take up considerable room in the lower hall.  I will leave the all-weather raincoat for summer use, one midweight jacket, and my full collection of nylon windbreakers.  Sweaters stored in my bedroom mostly get exchanged, except for one light cardigan and two cotton sweaters, which will come in handy for football season, which begins before the fall exchange. Sweatshirts, mostly logo type, serve the transition well.  The hoodies can go to storage, though.

One key decision involves whether to do this semi-annual project as one big effort or a series of smaller exchanges.  While most things I take in a few-minute increments, this one goes better if just completed in a few longer sessions.  Once done, I have what I need at hand for six months.

Do I ever travel to someplace warm when the weather freezes at home?  Not often.  My wife likes to more than I do.  A few items off to the side for seasonal transitions will suffice.  I regard swimwear as non-seasonal, as travel during any season usually takes me to places where my hotel preference includes an indoor pool.  Same with sleepwear.  Flannel lounge pants are my preference.  Socks I wear most days, irrespective of season.

Investing an hour's time, maybe a little more, makes things easier for me over six months.  I can check weather, see what I need to do that day, and extract a few suitable times.  The stuff in storage just stays there, not even thought about.  No new shopping needed.  Some tasks are just worth the effort of doing once but doing well.  That enables other warmer weather activities.  The garden, fishing, drives to beaches and parks.  The real attractions of living in a place where seasons change.

Neighborhood Walk

My treadmill malfunctioned.  The belt shifted.  Now it slips or hesitates.  Repairs for most anything appear on YouTube.  With video guidance, I recentered the belt, though not without the frustration of trying to find the proper Allen wrench and damaging the back panel of the green velvet recliner that sits to the left of the machine.  Fixing a slipping belt needs more steps.  It also needs special silicone lubricant, not readily available in stores.  Adding it to my amazon.com cart, along with enough other stuff to avoid shipping fees, will bring what I need to resume the scheduled exercise that has enabled me to feel reasonably energetic into my mid-70s.

To substitute exercise mode, I scheduled a walk around the neighborhood.  Same time, same duration.  I cannot measure speed and my development has a few minor upslopes.  Springlike weather thus far.  On my treadmill, I walk wearing night clothes.  Outside, I need to get dressed first.  Long pants, short-sleeved shirt, walking shoes, different ones than I wear on the treadmill.  My machine has a count-up timer and a distance monitor.  I distract myself with a series of tunes, each sequence about five minutes.  For neighborhood walking, my smart watch has both count-down and count-up timers.  I set it for 5 minutes count-down, to repeat five times.  

My first tour lasted a little under 25 minutes.  I changed the route, which brought it just above.  I've driven through my development many times, probably been a pedestrian at each of its streets a few times in the forty years I've owned my house.  I rarely pay attention.  But an exercise walk requires some type of distraction to avoid incessant glances at my timer's progress.  In the process, I've appreciated some new things about my development and the people who live there.  The most obvious attention getters are the front yards.  Some households put a blend of money and labor into making their street view unique and attractive.  Lawns are landscaped with areas set aside with stone edges.  Some have trees, others shrubbery.  While all homes have two-car garages, one or more cars sat on nearly all the driveways, including mine.  A couple homes parked enormous RVs in theirs, though I cannot recall ever seeing one driving down any of our streets.  

American flags adorn a few homes.  Some have erected vertical flagpoles on their front lawns.  Some have flag holders on a porch post which displays Old Glory diagonally.  Since I walk at about 8AM, I cannot tell which homes follow the etiquette of storing their flags indoors overnight, then raising them again at daybreak.  I did not observe any foreign flags, though I'm sure we have people attached to Israel, Palestine, Italy, and Ireland among our residents.

Cars are a necessity.  My route takes me mostly through streets of single-family homes, but we also have one section of condos and townhouses.  They have a parking lot, but many park on the street in front.  On the single home streets, curbside parking is rare.  On one session, I chose to distract myself by looking at the types of cars my neighbors had.  A couple of Mercedes, none brand new.  Mostly Asian vehicles, Toyotas and Hondas.  Hyundai perhaps under-represented, KIAs maybe over-represented.  I don't recall BMWs or Audis.  Not many  VWs, but not zero.  American cars seemed a mixture of Chevy's and Fords.  Minimal Chrysler products.  A few families had two cars of the same brand in their driveways, most had two different brands.  I focused on manufacturer, not on the model, not paying attention thus far to SUVs, sedans, pickups.  And I will assume that all these cars sit on the driveways excluded from their garages by owner's stuff.

There were things I did not see.  First on the list is people.  One other person did her exercise walk in the opposite direction.  A bond forms instantly, with a wave and greeting in each direction, though with care not to stop the pace.  By the time I set out, the kids have already been picked up by their school buses.  Any parents who accompanied them must have returned home.  I expected more dog walkers, or perhaps dogs in yards.  Owners become subservient to their pets' preferred physiologic needs.  I only passed two dogs in four sessions.  One home had a fenced-in yard with a sizable dog that greeted my walking by with a hearty bark and wagging tail.

Vehicular traffic seemed less than expected, though not absent.  By 8AM, people are mostly at their jobs or on their way.  I have n way of determining who in this era works from home.  Some workmen have started their day.  A plumbing truck arrived at one home.  Some landscaping contractors had parked out front, though I suppose people would complain if they ran their high-end, loud mowers at that hour.  One family had some home improvement work.  Ordinarily, when contractors remodel, fix roofs, paint, or engage in other multi-day projects, they typically insert their business sign into the front sod while they work, a quick ad for any who drive by who might need similar work.  I only saw one.  The other sign more prevalent in other neighborhoods but virtually absent in mine are the notices thiat this property is protected by a security agency.  I live in a low crime area, though occasionally the civic association sends an email to residents when somebody's car has been improperly entered.

Eventually, my treadmill will return to function.  As exercise, it has enough advantages over outdoor walking to mostly end my neighborhood walks.  I live in a very stable place.  People with homes that generate pride, vehicles that get us where we want to go when we want to go.  People seem to stay in their own space, whether that be their house, yard, or car.  Not many bikes on the front porches or other evidence of kids.  Not many other exercisers who take advantage of the public thoroughfares but an instant bond between the few that do.

It's different than my childhood housing development.  We had people outside all the time, especially kids, though also likely in school at the times I set out for my walks.  Maybe if I went at a different time I'd see more people or more traffic.  While streets are public, few people opt to enter them, preferring the privacy and control of their houses.  For the most part, I live that way as well.

Belt lubricant arrived in an Amazon box.  It should return to function in another day. As much as I enjoyed the outdoor walks, as exercise it falls short of the regimented program of a treadmill.   Health takes priority.  Other chances to walk in different places will appear, some familiar like my kids' neighborhoods in big cities, others part of travel to places I've not visited previously.  Though not quite  as intense as a treadmill set to a speed for a fixed duration, these walks still offer a reasonable surrogate, one that challenges my observation skills and imagination.

Birthday Favorites

I'm an Aries.  My birthday sometimes falls during Pesach, sometimes after, virtually never before.  Whatever the food limitations, some adaptation takes place.  My wife makes a special dinner, or sometimes I do.  This year, it falls after Pesach and on a Sunday, with very few competing obligations.  Table still set from shabbos.  I washed all the shabbos dinner dishes, not brought all the fleishig appliances upstairs from their Pesach storage in the basement.  I think I will make my own couples dinner this year.  For a milestone birthday.

First, milchig or fleishig?  Each has advantages and disadvantages.  I bought a slice of salmon for Pesach, but did not use it.  Even frozen, it can still be poached.   Milchig expands the options of birthday cake.

Instead, though, I opted for a meal of my personal favorites.  Always start with the centerpiece.  Briskets and steaks become available at Trader Joe's for Pesach.  Good Stuff.  Before Pesach, I bought a Kosher for Passover salami, a bullet salami that I've not seen in a kosher deli case for years.  What I do not have is pastrami.  That would have made the main dish.  I think I will go to TJ, see what beef did not sell out during Pesach and then decide.  If both remain, I could get a steak for the birthday and a brisket for later when we host dinner guests.

What goes with it?  I like knishes.  Also kasha varnishkes, tzimmes, shlishkes, glazed carrots, leczo, roasted beets. All the things I need to make these sit in my fridge or pantry, overpurchased from Super G produce prior to the Festival.  I think I'll go with shlishkes.  They are of Hungarian origin, one of my maternal grandmother's specialties.  Not very hard to make.  Boil a potato, chill it, mash, add flour and an egg and knead, then chill some more.  Roll it out, cut into bite size cylinders, boil, dry, then pan fry gently with matzah meal in olive oil.  

As much as I like leczo, and have ample unused bell peppers, it is hard to limit the quantity for a couple's dinner.  Though maybe I have a small can of diced tomatoes.  Glazed carrots have the advantage of ease.  They also have a sweetness that will serve the other ingredients.  Tzimmes is a variant on this, but making sweet potato and mashed white potato at the same meal seems problematic.

Pareve cakes.  I made nut torte for Pesach and don't have enough nuts left over.  Don't have pareve strudel dough or enough apples.  Don't have phyllo, and baklava seems too painstaking, though maybe I could buy some.  Instead, I mostly have what I need for fluden and for stuffed monkey, with dates that I have replacing candied peel that I don't.have.  My fluden had never come out well, but it is easier to make than stuffed monkey.  Passover cakes go on clearance.  They are not my favorites.  And while I like apple cake and honey cake, I eat them often enough that they have become less special.

There are soups.  Chicken soup with matzah balls have become universal favorites.  Same with mushroom barley soup.  Or I have herring that can be served as a starter.  I don't want to boil a frozen gefilte log.  That goes better with shabbos.  And I have falafel mix, but save that for another time.  They are among my favorites, though.

And salad.  I bought greens, bell peppers, celery.  Tomatoes need to be replaced as they spoiled before eating.

Wine has accumulated in excess.  White and red.  Put a bottle of white in refrigerator, separated a bottle of red, which may be preferable with beef.

Much of this effort involves choices, organization, less imagination if my starting point is established favorites.  Joy comes later, at a table, with my wife, maybe with phone calls from my kids.  Effort enhances enjoyment.  None seems overly taxing, appropriate to my advancing age.

And when all done, a Happy Birthday to Me.

Wrong Impressions

Attendance at synagogue during Pesach often does not seem a priority.  After the effort of Spring Cleaning, menus, invitations, shopping, exchanging dishes, and pulling off an elaborate festive Seder, many feel over-extended.  Services need to take place.  People get assigned portions to perform, forcing them to appear.  Many others, myself among them, judge the schlep to shul and the hours that people can redirect to cleanup or chilling as anti-climactic.  I stayed home the first festival day, attended Chabad instead on my own shul the second as I allocate that day to them, and to my own congregation for Shabbos.  Some registered as obligation to support those with bimah activity, but not enthusiastic affirmation to seek out my favorite people who will also attend.  Few people appear, often one male or two on either side of the required ten.

As we move five years past the pandemic, which took much American worship online, a few residual outcomes remain.  Many people who regularly attended their place of worship lost the obligation to show up.  People sampled other churches online, or now by streaming.  They could partake of places not available to them in person, megachurches, places with celebrity clergy, resources that bridge spirituality with entertainment.  Judaism has its parallel options, which I sampled generously for myself this Pesach.  The experience generated a lot of practical lessons, some a better understanding of me, some a different perspective of what Jewish worship could be, and some limitations, even false impressions, that watching another place's pews on a screen can impose.

To stream a synagogue service live requires a few things.  It excludes Orthodox congregations who judge Sabbath and Festival broadcasting to be a violation of Jewish Law.  Mine does not simulcast, either by Zoom or public streaming, for this reason.  That leaves primarily Conservative and Reform synagogues to do this, with a few Messianics thrown in for the very curious to partake of all that might exist.  Since these sanctuaries become exposed to anyone with YouTube access, the congregations that opt to do this are places that can display a flawless product.  Professional video, articulate Rabbi, lyrical Cantor.  In effect, places with the financial and talent resources to do this.  As a consequence, my streaming brought me to two Jewish cathedrals on Manhattan, parts of a lesser one on Manhattan, one near the UCLA campus made convenient to me by a time zone difference, another in an upscale suburb of LA where stars and moguls buy mansions, and a much more modest synagogue, though impeccably appointed in Florida, though not a place that screams We Have Money as loudly as the others did.

Jewish wealth has to be taken into context.  Some sage applicable advice came my way indirectly.  As a young careerist, mid-1970s, I read John C. Molloy's best-seller, Dress for Success.  Not really needing a corporate, expensive wardrobe as a young professional, I sought out basics at the time.  He recommended purchasing quality, which usually meant expensive.  The people who could promote you could tell the tailoring difference, even if I could not.  He understood that plunking down two weeks' pay on a suit would not be acceptable to folks like me.  Instead, he compromised on what to actually own, advice that got me through cars and homes and high end purchases of various types.  He advised looking at the best stuff.  Cadillacs, even if I would buy a Ford.  Identify features that the higher price allows, personal musts.  Those must appear in final purchase.  Other items that add to a high cost do not need duplication in the final purchase.  He called it shopping down.

As I watched three days, maybe ten services, of tony congregations, I found it easy to pick out what appealed to me, irrespective of whether my synagogue could duplicate this.  I also identified things about those places where my preference diverged from what I saw.  For better or worse, longstanding membership scripts people to look at their congregation as the assessment point.  My congregational experience has some predictability, most favorable, a few irritating.  Some worthy of learning from someplace else, others not.  

What I saw on the streamed services was a lot of hired talent.  My congregation depends on its own members davening, chanting, sometimes speaking.  The Rabbi does a few specialized things that others cannot.  My first service on screen began with a Torah reading.  Five volunteers read one festival aliyah each.  All proficient.  For short festival readings, our volunteers usually learn more than that, often the entire morning's reading.  The people receiving aliyot ascended to the Torah as families.  Couples with late teen daughters.  All seemed to know the names of their tailors and who they insist on styling their hair.  Not a single running shoe.  Men in suits that they would wear to their law offices or hedge funds.  Daughters who would have tennis lessons and summers at the finest camps that a family focused on Jewish affiliations could secure.  Not a single polyester white with blue stripes Conservative Bar Mitzvah tallis among them.  I did not resent this, nor did I admire this.  As social institutions, it has been places of worship have mingled people of different economic backgrounds, second only to universities.  I saw an ascendance of entitlement, one that offered me my own flashback.  As a young adult, I served as High Holy Day Torah reader.  Aliyot were sold as fundraisers, generally claimed by people like those I had just seen on TV.  As these men, and at the time they were all men even though egalitarianism was official policy,  these guys offered each other a generous handshake if not a hug.  I got two handshakes out of seven.  As I watched on the screen this workday morning, I could only assume that some nurses, school teachers, civil servants, also sat in the sanctuary.  But the camera captured Beautiful People in their finery approaching the open Torah scroll.  Because they ascended as families, their names were not announced, only their number in the morning's sequence of five.  Once done they returned to their seat.  

We get called up by name, blessed by name when done, and remain at the scroll until the person after us has completed his portion.  The LA congregation maintained the tradition.  It seems less processed.  The Reform congregation, among America's largest, reads Torah on Friday nights, as does the Reform congregation near my home that I periodically attend.  One Aliyah, often a fragment of an Aliyah.  This Erev Shabbat, they also had a Daughter naming.   

The other services seemed less starkly elite.  Indeed, at the Florida shul, men wore running shoes just like they do at my congregation.  The women wore simpler attire, purchased on Amazon or the Outlets.  Hair neatly combed but styled at home.  At the California synagogues, places in a different time zone that allowed me to watch their morning services in the afternoon, the ostentation seemed more in the worship environment than in the people worshiping.  All places can hire Rabbis experienced at public presentation.  All sermons thoughtful, but so are those at my shul, whether delived by our Rabbi or monthly by an assigned congregant.  We have more of a grass-roots culture, something I much prefer

I expect instrumental music at Reform Jewish worship.  Its foundiing in Germany, imported to America with the first large wave of Jewish immigration, adapted styles from Western Europe.  The much larger immigration of Eastern Europeans, my ancestors, numerically overwhelmed those of German heritage, so most American congregations adapted the traditions of Eastern Europe.  These prohibit instrumental music on Sabbath and Festivals.  To my surprise, all those I watched, except the Florida synagogue, had small bands playing multiple instruments.  Sometimes they accompanied the Cantor, sometimes they played music for its own sake.  At some point, the leader strummed a guitar.  The LA congregation engaged a professional choir, maybe five or six voices, sitting in a corner, adjacent to the instrumentalists.

Despite these variations, the content of the services remained very traditional. On one morning, the annual Prayer for Dew occurs.  I found it over the top ornate with the Cantor dressed in a rather tailored version of the kittel or white robe that the leader wears, not to mention a puffy hat whose gold braid front gave it a Papal look.  And they did not read the longer prayer silently first, then include Dew as part of the repetition.  But he sang a stirring, fluent melody of a difficult liturgical section.

Attendance on these days lags.  My congregation ekes by, Chabad, where I attended, attracted a few more.  These very large synagogues did not do much better.  Two worshiped in secondary chapels instead of the main sanctuary.  As the Torah processional occurs, some focus one of their cameras on the pews.  Not at all crowded, considering the congregational membership.  And the one where everyone seemed dressed to impress, the people in the pews also wore stylish dresses and hairstyles.  Every place has its local customs, as does mine.

Perhaps I can visit some of these.  Hotels on Manhattan are expensive, but within my means.  Bus or train on Friday afternoon and late Saturday.  Reform mega shul with celebrity Rabbi on Friday, Conservative upscale on Saturday, hopefully one without a Bar Mitzvah.  Macherlands?  Or maybe a very engaging experience.  TV screens let us see what the directors and cameramen want us to see.  In person, though, the visitor gets a snapshot, not the album or the movie.  Maybe not everyone shops at Armani.  The purpose of places of worship is to blend people.  Maybe they do it better than the streaming conveyed to me. 

Visit or not, synagogues come in all varieties.  I've traveled enough to attend many.  It's reassuring that when my own congregation finds me too weary, uninterested, and on occasion cynical, a change of experience needs only a few clicks on a remote control. 

Ahead of Schedule

One day before Seder typically imposes one of my longest task lists.  I begin shopping well in advance, but dairy certification for Passover usually doesn't arrive until the last minute.  Some items to be prepared for the Seder need defrosting about two days in advance.  Carpet shampoo squad comes at the beginning of the week, which requires me to move things off the floors, then replace most of them after their chemical application dries.  Food purchases not requiring refrigeration sit in heavy bags in the dining room, to be moved onto our tiled kitchen before the cleaners arrive.  They are not returned.  Our kitchen becomes a non-food place the day prior to Seder.  It's out for breakfast.  This could range from a restaurant to a grab and go at WaWa.  Lunch, if any, becomes a slice of pizza from a place that offers slices.  Dinner is set aside as a special time.  A family supper out with kids, wife time as empty nesters.  Most a family style chain, either national or regional.  I insist on craft beer, though, anticipating some deprivation during Pesach.

In between, tasks get divided between my wife and me.  She prepares our kitchen surfaces.  Sink, microwave, stove, self-cleaning oven, fleishig food preparation island, kitchen table.  I do the more physically demanding projects.  Cleaning the refrigerator, moving hametz appliances to the basement, and bringing boxes of stored Pesach needs upstairs to the kitchen.

My stamina has taken an age-related, or maybe health-related, toll.  I can make two round trips between basement and kitchen before resting.  That's a lot of trips.  Of the appliances that go downstairs, only the stand mixer has substantial weight.  Not so for things coming upstairs.  Some boxes laden with cookware and dishes challenge me with both weight and bulk.  In recent years, I do one of these, then for the second trip, tote two lighter boxes from basement to dining room.  The refrigerator is a project unto itself.  It only gets throughly cleaned annually, in anticipation of Pesach.  Contents removed.  Unsalvageable food discarded.  Shelves and bins cleaned.  Interior scrubbed.

This year, with Seder taking place at mid-week and OLLI on spring break, starting early became more realistic.  Food purged one shelf at a time over a few days the week before.  Vegetable and fruit bins scrubbed.  That leaves me with mostly usable food, a simple to clean cheese bin, the shelves and the interior.  At one time I did the interior with a sponge.  Now I use a sponge floor cleaner with handle, saving the sponge for the corners.  Shelves often need soaking, having intermittent spots of dried stuff, once sticky, now solid.  

For the dishes, as soon as the carpets dried, I went to work.  I did not count how many round trips I made.  Only two unusually heavy boxes challenged my physical capacity.  So at midmorning, I find myself well ahead of progress for previous years.  I started the kitchen table, a necessity as the refrigerator contents need to rest there while I remove the shelves, wash each individually,  allow them to dry.  Then scrub the interior.  Then replace shelves.  Finally, replace food, creating zones for Pesach and Hametz.  If I get this all completed before heading out for supper, it's been a successful effort.  Ahead of schedule.  Just the refrigerator to clean and food to sort.  Even though not yet complete, already I feel accomplished.

After darkness emerges, we have our formal Search for Hametz, arranged by my wife.  Then chill, with no loose ends, ready for the Seder preparation.  As a Bachor, or First-Born, I need to attend a Siyum to avoid a fast day.  Then washing dishes and preparing the Seder meal.  It's a second consecutive long day, one that does not conclude until very late at night when I return my guest to her home and drive back.  A second consecutive day of effort generated accomplishment. 

Visiting a New Place

Each semi-annual goal list contains an element of new experience.  It may be significant travel, day trips to places I've not been before, eating something I've not had before, joining a committee.  Experiences come in a lot of different forms.  Often it is visiting a new place, whether a city, tourist site, park within my own state, or even a new restaurant.

This cycle I had the initiative not as specifically new but as three day trips.  I had completed one, taking advantage of my SEPTA Senior Card to walk the length of Elfreth's Alley, Philadelphia's oldest currently occupied residential street.  Being on vacation from my state university's senior division, I seemed overdue for another visit to a new place.   A dear friend never made many social connections.  As his years advance, he has become more dependent on other people, more isolated at a senior living facility.  After a few desperate emails, my wife and I paid him a visit.  Driving took about two hours, with a stop for coffee and some redirection by Waze when I misunderstood where to turn.  I'd been to Baltimore many times for a variety of reasons, though not to where he current resides.

To our relief, the tales of woe sent electronically seem far beyond what we saw.  He lives in a spacious place, tastefully furnished, with kind staff everywhere.  The drive took its toll on me, so I left most of the conversation to my wife while I rested on a sofa.  He had an afternoon medical appointment, which gave everyone a reason to conclude the visit.

Many of my private times in Baltimore take place on Saturday mornings.  I am fond of one of their Orthodox synagogues, once headed by an iconic senior rabbi who has since retired.  I make a day of it, leaving early enough to get coffee at a WaWa, arrive before Torah reading and sometimes go to a tourist attraction after services, but sometimes just head home after kiddush.  While the shul sits in Jewish Baltimore, I only drive past a lot of McMansions where few of those in attendance can afford to live.  There is another part of Jewish Baltimore, perhaps its most robust section, just over the hill from where I turn off.  It being Saturday, everything Jewish is closed, including the 7 Mile Kosher supermarket, where I have always wanted to shop, if only one time.

This seemed like the ideal time to go.  Passover approaches.  My regional grocer has a weakening attachment to our local Vaad, though I could still get a respectable Passover food supply.  It's those irritants, the shankbone once given away for free, then sold, now absent.  Dairy not yet out.  And a very limited supply of meat.  Passover has the communal eating of meat at its core.  For a few guests, I can get chickens, both whole birds and parts to make soup.  For a crowd, there were no big slabs of meat to buy, other than frozen turkeys that people can defrost.  

Waze directed and misdirected me to parts of Jewish Baltimore I'd not driven past previously.  Modest homes with small yards.  And many more apartment complexes than I would have expected in proximity to the miniestates where lawyers and Hopkins neurosurgeons live. Two synagogues, one large reddish masonry building with signage announcing it as a Sephardic synagogue.  Another a smaller more conventional Orthodox place.  People on the sidewalks included a Hasidic teen girl with little skin exposed and a few men in black.  But the neighborhood had other representation.  Some African Americans.  A sprawling school dominated a block on our route, a few blocks from our kosher megamart.  Not a yeshiva but the Frederick Douglas High School.

The GPS corrected my directional misunderstandings.  We arrived at the Market.  It had a sprawling parking lot, though as Pesach approaches, it also has a lot of patrons, many visibly orthodox with beards, kippot, and tzitzit emerging over their belts.  Carts seemed filled to the top.  More than any empty nester household could eat.  These purchases will fill the back of an SUV and take a while to bring inside.  Perhaps some shopped as agents of their synagogues or organizations for communal seders or a week's worth of meals for a day school. 

I had been to large kosher markets before.  My childhood town has emerged as a Hassidic hub.  On my last visit, I toured Rockland Kosher, though without the detail and intent that I approached most aisles of 7 Mile Market.  Shankbone?  A whole case, help yourself, $2 each.  Priority for my cart.  Big hunks of beef, plain and corned.  Enough for a Bar Mitzvah caterer.  Margarine, no.  The industry must have withdrawn from Passover pareve margarine.  And no dairy.  Some prices far exceeded what I once paid.  Large briskets could run over $100.  A raw beef tongue, not seen in years, now sells for $40 a pound.  I did not run across lamb or duckling, but did not seek them out.  Marshmallows.  Had to put a bag in my cart.  My wife took a liking to thinly sliced sandwich steaks, to be reduced to smaller portions when we get home.  An I've not seen an authentic kosher salami in years.  Passover approved.  Into cart.

Satisfied, we headed to the checkout.  Interestingly the employees were sometimes representative of the local Orthodox clientele, but they had Black and Latino staff, including our most pleasant cashier.  No self-checkout lanes.  No express lanes either.  At each register, they keep a cardboard tzedakah box.  It helps local families in some way.  One of the Passover traditions is to add to a fund that enables Jews of low income to purchase supplies for their holiday.  I think these black corrugated boxes with slots on the top had a different destination.  I tapped my card.  As I returned the Visa to its wallet slot, I took out a dollar, folded it and stuffed it into the slot.  

As awesome as the place appeared, and as tempting a return visit without the Passover limitation seems, it still requires a 70 mile drive each way, and one bridge toll.  I likely will return to that favorite synagogue, though the Market closes on shabbos.  Similar, though less comprehensive options exist a shorter drive from my home.  At one time I drove out of necessity about 35 miles each way to a kosher butcher about every 6-8 weeks.  My school age son joined me.  Father/Son bonding or bondage made the errands special.  As an empty nester, these quests for the more exotic cuts of meat, liver, tongue, duckling, veal seem harder to justify.  But my afternoon at 7 Mile Market, both products and ambience, made me eager to inconvenience myself a little, if only to explore closer to home.

Not Wanting Anything

For serving as a research subject for my state university project, the investigators sent me a $50 Amazon gift card.  I try to redeem these quickly, before I forget about their existence.  To avoid shipping costs, all my checkouts at Amazon exceed the threshold for including shipping, which falls somewhat below the $50 I had to spend.  My wife needed a small electronic appliance that cost about $50.  I could not match the serial number she provided me with any item on their menu, so she opted to just get what she wanted on her own.  That still left me $50 to spend.

I tried to create a shopping list.  Some lavender sachets to keep bow mites from returning to my violin case.  These seem to be sold in bulk quantities far above what I would need.  Maybe a local crafts store would have them.  I have a few nostalgic indulgences.  Hai Karate lotions are not made anymore.  Jade East still exists but its current price exceeds any value I would place on it.  In retirement I am giving clothing away, not purchasing more.  My kitchen has every utensil, pan, dish, and appliance needed to create elegant dinners, both milchig and fleishig.  My last Amazon furniture purchase could have gone better.  At IKEA I can see what I am getting.

Then there are replacement parts.  Amazon does best with this.  Few exceed $50 and nothing right now is partially broken.  My fondness for pens is insatiable.  In the past, two cartridge pens from Amazon joined my small collection.  Rarely used.  Understand why ballpoints have replaced them.  No desire for personal jewelry.

Might I spend this on somebody else?  I could.  But honoraria from my research participations have become my mad money, my indulgences.  I don't want to change that.  It is not unusual for podcasters to make YouTube presentations of neat stuff from Amazon for under $50.  The run a short enough time, typically under ten minutes, to see what they have.  Mostly electronics, stuff to enhance productivity or make driving safer.  None attractive to me.

Basically, Amazon sells stuff.  And I do purchase stuff, though increasingly perishables like food and medicine.  I seek what they don't sell, experiences.  Sometimes this comes indirectly.  I purchased a violin bow with a previous gift card.  And a fragrance might be a form of experience.  So might a picture frame to keep photos of my grandchildren in sight.  And they started as a book seller.  The book is stuff, reading its pages becomes experience.  A team cap is stuff.  Displaying the logo of my affiliations when I travel transforms it to experience.

For now, I have $50 worth of petty indulgence waiting for the right product.  None today that I especially want.