Getting Out

Each day I try to go someplace, even in the days of peak pandemic.  There are lots of destinations, some satisfying, many not.  Cafe Tamar, an evening of entertainment, left me feeling isolated among a throng of familiar people.  I did better at Trader Joe's or the library with many fewer unfamiliar people.  And today the doctor's office in the afternoon.  Out somewhere each day. 

Places that I go are plentiful: supermarket, library, Boscov's, sometimes Five Below, sit at one of several nearby state or county parks, synagogue, on occasion out for breakfast or Brew HaHa.  Places that generate satisfaction after being there are many fewer.  I never regret sipping coffee at Brew HaHa or deciding between needs and wants at Trader Joe's.  The park or shul generates a less fulfilled sense when I depart.  I'm probably more engaged looking at what TJ has on its shelves or allowing my mind to have free rein in exchange for my $3 coffee.  

There are places I used to go to more.  Going to a mall for its own sake, Costco to see what's there, and Walmart without a specific item in mind have largely stopped.  I go to the two Farmer's Markets much less.  Almost never go out for a slice of pizza or to get a hoagie.  A brew at Happy Hour with a notebook to record my thoughts probably stopped with the pandemic.  I will still go downstate, though always planned.  And day trips to the Big Apple for the purpose of a day a way went the way of the cheap local bus.

And there's where I've not gone but could.  Have not been to the local attractions that generate outside visitors, our legacy mansions, our waterfront, our nature reserves.  Not been to much in the way of museums of late.  Never went to the movies on my own or really sought spectator type entertainment.  Haven't been to the ballpark in years.

Perhaps the purpose of going out is to have an alternative to being at home.  Under those circumstances the destination does not matter a lot.  The park will serve that need conveniently and economically.

Eating Outdoors

My first costly home upgrade, now some 35 years ago when my son was a toddler, was to create a deck accessible through the back door.  It required little maintenance, though a minor restoration of the wood a few years ago.  Yet it never really fulfilled what I had imagined, a place with the sky above me to hang out and entertain.  Our sukkah stands there each fall, so we have a few dinners on a folding teak table and chairs, sometimes bringing out kitchen chairs or a card table.  But it's not been the dining area, seated or buffet, that I envisioned.  I bought an antigravity chair, which I use a few times a year, and have had a couple of umbrellas over the years which usually have their mechanisms fail before they are put to regular use.  When I had the carpenter do the restoration, it was again my vision to make this into an outdoor living space.  I planted flowers with good results the first year, less subsequent years.  But this summer I am going to upgrade its utility, primarily with dining.  The small round teak table failed after last Sukkot, so time for new dining.  I found four suitable chairs on sale at Target.  They fit in the back seat of my Camry and needed no assembly.  Then a table.  Since I won't be using it a lot, a low-priced one would suffice.  With some effort, I secured one at Boscov's, a square surface suitable for the four chairs from Target.  It has a hole in the middle for an umbrella, which I already have.  And with a flat box, it fit in the car.

Though difficult to get out of the back seat and transport to the deck, really a two-person job, I managed.  Made in China.  People who guided the machines that stamp out the parts and package them probably aren't paid very much.  The engineers who designed this were not likely MIT Alumni.  Parts all there.  Instructions a long way from obvious.  Wrench they provided was no help.  And my own tool box was missing the socket wrench that I needed, but my wife found another.  Not easy to assemble, but done and stable.  

Still need to install the umbrella, another two person effort.  And for fleishig meals I will need a tablecloth, a specialty item with a hole in the middle to accommodate the umbrella pole, and hopefully with a zipper so I don't have to keep removing and reinstalling the umbrella to clean the tablecloth.

And then we have grills.  I've basically given up on gas grills in favor of simpler charcoal.   I have one, rarely used.  It's fleishig.  I wanted a tabletop one, selecting something suitable from a Shop-Rite ad.  Unfortunately, this destination of the Kosher consumer has swooned in customer service.  The grill that would satisfy my needs only appears in the weekly circular.  It's not really available in the stores for people to purchase.  I had to go to the Walmart, ostensibly to replace my milchig mini-chopper with one that their online site indicated was in aisle G2 at my store.  Baited and switched.  They had a different model for $10 more.  But while there, I looked at patio dining tables.  Not displayed.  But the department had tabletop grills.  For $14.99 I could not go wrong, so I got one.  I could either designate it milchig for my patio or fleishig to make dinner in a park.  Decide on first use, but it still needs assembly.  And I can always get a second one, either for milchig on my deck or fleishig by transport.  But I think for now, grilled tuna and eared corn at home on my deck would be the better choice.  I have an insulated cooler and a wooden picnic basket, so preparing home food to eat in a park then transporting it in a container would be more suitable for as often as we might do this.

So my option for outdoor dining approaches reality.  Then actually eat outdoors.

Sociology Panel

My invitation followed a response to a FB inquiry.  A graduate student from UNC wanted to assemble panels of citizens in Charlotte, Louisville, and Wilmington to assess the state of those cities for his sociology dissertation.  He would meet in my town for two consecutive early evenings.  I chose the second, having another place to be the first.

We met as scheduled.  Our meeting took place at a regional library, a place I had not been before, or at least thought so, though I've been close by for many activities, from OLLI, my synagogue, and at one time daily hospital rounds.  Most years I attend the city's Greek Festival and some years their Italian Festival, each walking distance from the meeting.  I had been there, in fact.  The librarian reminded me that this building was once the state's Department of Motor Vehicles Center.  I took my written drivers test there to transfer my license from my previous state to my current one, and had my car inspected there from when I first moved to the area until the state built a larger facility someplace else.  I had not known that the county purchased this rather large building for a library.  Parking lot more than ample for a regional library, never ample when citizens had to conduct their motor vehicle needs.

It sits in a transition neighborhood, much as it did when I arrived forty years previously.  Little Italy with its restaurants and row houses sits two blocks over, the St. Francis Hospital just beyond that.  Up the hill stands the Catholic church and a little to the west, the Greek Orthodox church.  The main commercial area with a small auto mall which also houses my current synagogue, OLLI, and some upscale housing can be found just to the east.   The vicinity of the library has well maintained row houses, no litter whatever, and during my drive there, virtually no people in the yards or on the sidewalks.

I arrived a bit early, got acclimated, then assembled with the researcher and other panelists in a small conference room.  He offered us water, though the library disallowed serving food in that room.  I was the only male panelist, and apparently the only suburban one whose life rarely brings him into the city limits these past dozen or so years.  Personal introductions first.  Moderator a grad student from a flagship state university for which this panel will contribute to his dissertation.  Clockwise, a peak career lady doing computer programming for a large regional bank, a forty-something lady who with a young child emerging from hard times, an elderly retired lady, a lady from the neighborhood who has older children and works as an esthetician, me, and a heavy set AA lady with alopecia who does social service work to protect the oppressed from their metaphoric oppressors.  As the discussion commenced, I could see the only people without some expression of resentment were the two retired people.

I think there is a micro and macro sociology, the cities failing at the micro with prosperous people exiting and people still there resentful at no longer having what they once had.  Rich people moving back displacing others?  Well, the social service lady saw more oppressors, I saw it as a marker that this may be a place people want to be.  Loss of people mingling on the streets?  The lady next to me had a daughter who had been shot in crossfire.  We have admirable ethnic festivals.  They pre-dated and survived the city's decline, which occurred despite them.  They are not the attractions that restore neighborhoods.

What I saw was a table exuding various confirmation biases.  If we corrected my pet peeve all will be well.  It won't.  

The moderator told me that he hoped to have the dissertation completed in time for next spring's PhD conferrals.  I'd like to read what he concludes.

Aborted Out to Eat

Shavuot meal planning has dominated my week, supplemented by what I thought was a pot luck dinner for my wife's choral group, for which I spent much of the day making a complex Hungarian Monkey Bread.  At the last minute she disinvited me.  Rather than this being a social post concert gathering, as organizational President she declared it a working Annual Meeting exclusive to members of the Chorale.  

So a Me supper.  I sort of like them on occasion.  My last occurred about four months ago when I treated myself to a few days in the Poconos, something of a bust of an outing, but I got to eat at a wonderful casino buffet one night and a brew pub the next.  Maybe try the new Kid Shelleens, a place for beer with food.  Not much I'd be willing to eat, and the prices more than I want to spend.  Brew pub around the corner.  Same reaction.  Then surfing menus online by "...near me."  One diner, but I really wanted beer.  And I would have expected the search engine to find more places.  Maybe just get a beer.  Two microbrews, one nearby, one just at the limit of what I would be willing to drive.  No food though.

A few observations.  First, since covid, restaurant prices have jumped considerably.  These may be the least secure jobs around other than entertainer or artist, often occupied by otherwise aspiring but not currently employed entertainers or artists.  Turnover must be high.  Wages needed to rise.  Supply chain made product acquisition insecure.  More price rise, but also restriction of menu options.  Chicken dominates, as economical, available and versatile.  Fish less so.  And pasta must have gone out of favor.  While low wage workers earning more reflects justice, consumers like me also have to be willing to pay the price increases, which I am not.

I made two sandwiches, one cheese, one hummus, on discounted hamburger rolls.  Then I drove along the main drag.  I passed many potential restaurants that did not appear on my searches.  Popular Italian, IHOP, two sports bars, two seafood places.  Wonder why the Google algorithm doesn't capture these.  Maybe there's a pay to play component.  Had I just driven around instead of searching for a place online, I would have settled for one and had my supper out.

Some Cooking

Allocated this week to upgrading my kitchen skills.  Rough start but able to catch up.  Agenda:  Hungarian Monkey Bread for the Delaware Choral Arts Potluck supper.  Dough came out sticky, lots of cleanup, which I'll start during the rise, then make the coating.  Was not planning to use the food processor but I may need to grind some brown sugar.  Pastry board is a mess.  I will need that to roll out the dough, then later today I need to make rough puff pastry for later in the week.  That also needs a pastry board as well as a clean food processor.

Tomorrow, shop for rest of ingredients in advance of yontif.  Thaw cod.

Day after, blintzes.  I need a blender for that, which I have.

Big cooking for shabbos guests.  Start Challah early in the morning. Use stand mixer. Go to services while dough rises.  Make pie dough before services and chill in fridge.  I think I'll still be able to go to services.  When I get back, make pie.  While pie bakes, punch down challah dough and shape loaves.  Pie comes out, bake challah.  Then after that roast tomatoes for soup.  Make salad while pie bakes, as it is best refrigerated.  Late afternoon, assemble coulibiac which takes a while.  Set aside, but do not bake until about an hour or two before guests arrive.  Make soup.  This keeps.  It can be heated on stovetop while coulibiac bakes.  Steam carrots.

Set table.  Put everything in serving dishes.

I think I can keep this all sequential.

Listened to the Sounds

Delaware Choral Arts presents some of the finest choral concerts in my area.  Yet there's something bothersome to me about choral music or opera or oratorios.  Even when sung in my native language, not only can I rarely discern the words, but often I cannot figure out that the group or soloist is singing in English.  The organizers are well aware of this, so they provide a transcript of the text which the usher distributes at the entry to the auditorium or sanctuary along with the program.  I picked mine up, found a seat in the pew, read over some of the program, then made a key decision.  I would not follow the program, just listen.  I clapped when everyone else clapped.  I knew how many pieces were on each side of intermission.  I knew how many movements each of the two long pieces contained but not when each ended, until everyone clapped at the end.  And the transcript of the text just stayed on the coarse red cushion that the church offers as its pew's seating surface.  And I listened.

My 8th Grade music teacher, Mr. Nasser, once challenged us to rank the relative importance of the words and the music.  He insisted that language has to take priority, as we think verbally and the composer depends on the texts to create the music.  I bought into his instruction at the time, but as I attend more concerts where the language never captures my pretty decent comprehension of English, I've become more of a skeptic.

So yesterday I put the text transcription aside and just listened to the sounds.  Polyphonic voices.  Keyboard accompaniment.  Soloists merging with instruments.  A bassist and percussionist for one of the pieces on the program, with the composer offering a plethora of percussion sounds.  Singers of various vocal registers.  Entry and silence directed by the conductor.  The text really didn't matter to my auditory experience.  Probably a great disappointment to the composer, and maybe an even bigger one to the author of the texts, as yesterday's concert was largely adapted from African-American literature and Spirituals.  The author created ideas.  I missed them to get the composer's sounds instead.

Serious Scheduling

Getting to the conclusion of the Omer and to the calendar month.  Pretty much every day has some scheduled activity, or quasi-scheduled.  Wife's choral concert, then her choral group's annual meeting for which I agreed to contribute to their pot-luck.  Got invited to serve on an opinion panel at mid-week. Then Shavuot at end of week, with dinner guests for shabbos.  That goes into Memorial Day weekend, with a congregational event on the holiday itself, that I have mixed feelings about attending, as the experience with Chief Influencers has caused me some discomfort.  I'll probably go.  Then finish the month with a doctor's appointment, followed a week later with a trip to San Francisco.  

Those are the appointments.  There's also some food preparation.  Clear fleishig leftovers, food in freezer, dishes and utensils washed, as this week is milchig eating.  Need to inventory ingredients, shop for what I need, as the shabbos dinner takes some planning and effort.  Need to replenish some of my dwindling supply of medicines before yontif.

And not neglect my writing projects or my garden.  And maybe even finish what I need to enable al fresco dining on my underutilized deck.

I can do all this and do it well.

Congregational Survey

Filling it out took more than Survey Monkey's estimated times.  A synagogue where my wife maintains a significant attachment and where I accompany her infrequently opted for a self-assessment as their new Rabbi, a potential superstar of Conservative Judaism, gets his bearings.  This has been a very successful congregation, having only its third senior Rabbi since I was married in their sanctuary by the first of them.  Whenever I go there I see a lot of people around.  Whenever I witness a Purim spiel, the presentation far exceeds what my own congregation could produce, or even aspire to produce.  I think If I were designing my ideal synagogue from a Dilbert cubicle with a yellow pad and Bic crystal pen, I would come up with something along the lines of what they have.  Tradition maintained, gender equality for real, a spectrum of special events, regular study worthy of college graduates attending, knowledgeable congregants taking their turns on the bimah and in the seminar rooms, a kitchen, functioning committees, and a leadership that instinctively reviews their membership list to invite those most capable of helping to join in.

Undoubtedly, if they did all these things as well as what their officers set as their goals, they would not need the survey.  But what I was asked to assess reveals what they aspire to, whether or not fulfilled.  They want a diverse congregation, one that has people glad they came to their event or service.  They have generated a very large menu:  services for all religiously specified times, chances for people to partake of them in the form of individual honors or participation, a plethora of educational forums, opportunities to socialize with each other across demographic categories or within a multiplex of identifiable personas from LGBT to empty nesters.  Their congregation carries their banner outside their deeded property in the form of promoting Jewish initiatives of easily recognizable categories with partner agencies.  They need the facilities they have generated, communications within the organization and beyond, enough financial stability to invest in new initiatives, and a team of people to create a congregational vision that they can implement.

This place has certain advantages over my shul.  Size, wealth, property, diversity.  But they also have a mindset advantage.  They consider what excellence entails and what might be possible.  As we degenerated to a handful of Influencers, some of whom I'd not put on my Admirable A-List, they understand the benefits of their cast of thousands.  They want to have people partake of their programming but they seem to also invite more talent to create that programming.

One of the bestsellers of my formative years, a book that I read for the purpose of assembling a suitable early career wardrobe, was John Molloy's Dress for Success.  While I learned about colors, patterns, and fit, he had other guidance that was transportable to other settings.  When I could not afford top-notch, how do I get the best that my realistic resources could attain?  He suggested looking at the best then, "shopping down."  For a house, go to open houses of mansions and see which parts of their offerings are best to duplicate.  For decor, I visit historic mansions, see what people do with their space when money is no object, then assess what might be possible for me.  When I need my next car, look at the luxury vehicles, then purchase my sedan with the features that are best for me.

I could approach my congregation the same way.  It's a place of waning appeal, much like the many parallel Christian congregations that once had a hundred worshipers a week, now only twenty, and older ones at that.  It's a megatrend.  Yet as the survey of the successful congregation striving to be even more successful indicates, there are still some why not's of what might be possible.  What might it take to have better outreach into the larger community, to invite people who never thought they would be passively invited onto committees, to have committees or other activities with names but no people start having people, to become the go-to congregation with experts in Anti-Semitism or Israel advocacy?  We may have to schect some Sacred Cows to do this, retire a few Influencers who won't look outward or at least create more accountability.  Probably very little reason we cannot have carpools to bring members of limited mobility to our activities.  And we could budget beyond our subsistence, paying rent and salaries from our never to be replenished profits of our building sale, to targeted purchasing of the things that make us a more inviting place.  The larger congregation has more resources.  They also seem to have more mindset, more determination. And they look at their people as potential creators, not only as consumers.  That's the difference.

Absent Cell Phone

Being in my later years, most of it transpired without portable devices other than my hospital issued medical pager.  As a resident, its range was essentially only the hospital.  Beyond that, its range was literally Beyond.  And it went off.  Inconvenient times, inconvenient places.  Inside, it would get answered immediately.  Outside or car, it depended on who had been trying to reach me.  The number needed to call back either came audibly or visibly on an alphanumeric screen.  If it seemed like a medical need, depending on how far I was from my destination, I would postpone the return call until I arrived there or if farther away, drive to someplace that likely had a pay phone.  A phone that could call from the car definitely warranted a tax deduction as legitimate professional equipment.  I only needed one to make calls.  The beeper remained the preferred means of somebody trying to reach me.  A few dumb phones, basically used like my home or office phone but with portability, served their intended purpose.  As technology improved, though, having a portable device that could connect me not only to what the telephone used to do but all of cyberspace became irresistible to most people with the means  to get one, so I joined the global community of smartphone users.

Its most essential purpose really has not changed.  My hand-held device goes with me in the car where it becomes a rack-held device, not to return beeps but just in case I am immobilized while driving.  And that rarely happens, but when it does, the phone is my easy way back to normal.  FOMO, no, FOCarBreakdown si.  While devices now do it all, it is only with my current car that I abandoned an independent GPS device, as the one that came with my current car failed too many times.  I have an independent camera, tape recorder, flashlight, measuring devices, laptop, stereo, and a full collection of road maps from when the gas stations, tourist bureaus, and AAA gave them away for free.  The maps of the places I go still have a pouch in the back seat where I can retrieve the one I need within minutes of when I need it.  My car radio has AM/FM.  I still go to the library to get books.  So while apps can replace most of these things, indeed I have downloaded many of these electronic tools, it is really only the device GPS that I use plus the peace of mind that I can contact assistance immediately when needed.  And I can do that safely, as my 2018 sedan projects my cell phone options onto an easily visible dashboard screen.  Technically, I do not need the phone holder, as the dashboard screen will display my phone options even when it is in my pants pocket.

One day last week, instead of putting the smartphone in my pocket or on one of two tables, the desk where I work or the table where I eat, I left it on its overnight resting place, also limited to three.  It could pass away the dark hours in its charger, under my pillow with the sleep tracker recording later how my insomnia fared, or it could just lie idly flat on a shelf behind my bed.  The fewer places an object could be, the less likely it will be misplaced.  This night I left it behind my bed. 

Up at usual time.  Morning routine, dental hygiene, check indoor plants, retrieve newspaper from driveway, make coffee, then take it upstairs for a morning at my laptop until treadmill time.  Often I will first use the cell phone as a timer for my scheduled treadmill session, but this day I used a kitchen timer, pulling it with its magnet off the refrigerator.  Exercise done, timer back on fridge door.  Me back in My Space on laptop.  Needing to do some errands, seek a few minor amusements, and sit on a park bench in the sunshine for a while, I headed to the car, driving off but without my omnipresent device.  I didn't even realize its absence until reaching into my left pants pocket, it's usual place of transport, finding it not there.  I didn't need it, but might have listened to an audiobook borrowed from our library's Hoopla Service on the way home.  Pretty reliable car, not likely to break down.  Drive safely, not likely to have a collision and if I did somebody from the other car could call the police.  Just drove home.  When I got there I confirmed that my smartphone had remained in its customary overnight resting place behind my bed.  I made a decision to leave it there until bedtime, then charge overnight if necessary, but not use it or even have it with me until the next day.  If I wanted to drive someplace else without it, I would, and without its GPS capability.  No phone until the next day.  No apps until the next day.  If I fell down the stairs or had chest pain at home, I could either hobble to a landline or my wife would eventually find me.  It just stayed there.  And with no adverse consequences of not having it.

As a practical matter, the downside of portability is losing the device, which I'm sure happens a lot.  Lost & Founds likely have drawers or bins of these cell phones.  People insure their devices from loss or theft.  But in the hours to days of absence, there is an inevitable FOMO or parallel dread of not being to replace what was on the SIM Card or mini-SD Card.  I knew where my phone was the entire time, forgoing its figurative attachment to me voluntarily.  It brought me peace to not have it, yet know where it was.  Not knowing where it was would have generated a very different inner response.

Day of Chores

As much as I want to move along with writing and other self-expression, today may turn out better dedicated to chores.  Cold laundry sorted, both regular and gentle.  More than the usual amount of gentle.  None takes very long once sorted.  Just tote each basket downstairs, put in the right machine at the right time, let the washer and drier perform, fold, and return the garments to their assigned place in my bedroom.  Ample dishes to do.  Not that many fleishig ones remain.  And I need to reseason the cast iron grill pan from its ordeal with a rib steak.  Then exchange sink to milchig and do those dishes.  I've already done a load of milchig dishwasher, so the rest need to be washed by hand, which I mostly find relaxing.

My herb pots seem to be going well.  In the backyard the flowers and vegetables could use some watering.  I should begin weeding.  And I bought a package of Swiss chard seeds.  Maybe plant three grids of these, or a dozen.  Thinning seedlings is premature.

And today's centerpiece, completing the transfer of my house to the revocable trust to avoid probate at some future time.

Those are the do it and done tasks.  I also have room and space tidying.  My Space with its destination desk, the kitchen, my half of the bedroom.  Never quite done.  Multiple schemes to promote progress, from setting a timer for a fixed duration of effort or setting a subtask to work on until completion.  Short bursts of intermediate progress.

But in the end, while having all the laundry and dishes done generates some tangible accomplishment, I've always had a preference for my mental efforts.  So no matter how much laudable household chores or errands I do, my assessment of how the day went falls back to what I read or wrote.  Time for that not only gets carved into each day, but with a timer that allows nothing else as it ticks to zero.

OLLI on Hiatus

Spring OLLI session completed.  I took three four top-notch courses, meeting MWF mornings. MF on site, Wednesday at my laptop.  I had signed up for  fifth course, one taken on my one time On Demand.  I never opened it, apologizing for that lapse to the instructor when I ran into him.

My schedule as it was left every afternoon open.  Some of the time I used well, much of it not.  It also left me two mornings open.  I could be counted upon to take my medicine and exercise on the treadmill those mornings.  But having something scheduled, a place I need to be at a time I need to be there forces me to pay attention at least during those times.

Summer break has begun.  I'm trying to keep those set hours to finally write the enduring work, a book, that I desired to write but not so much desire as to commit to what it takes to do that.  I think I can, with the OLLI hours redirected to the project.

Mother's Day Dinner

Preparation began early, though only the bread and dessert, both baked, take a long time.  And both completed at midday, creating a respite of about five hours before the remaining dishes get cooked and an attractive platter assembled.

I drove along the main route of my community, a path along a single road of mostly retail.  One dying mall to the north with a thriving supermarket across the street.  Familiar names on the storefronts.  Big Box stores, the last regional department store, places to eat that advertise their franchises on TV, a few independents.  Lunch gets traffic on Mother's Day.  One center dedicated to five restaurants had its parking lot filled.  Three national chains, one regional one, and one splashy popular diner.  All teeming with grateful children treating their moms.  True for all other places along my route that offer fare that not only requires cooking but also utensils to eat what the waitress delivers.  All except the IHOP, which from limited recent experience may not merit having diners, particularly for a special lunch of appreciation.  Many of these national chains get into my news feed of places that Gen Z diners won't patronize, with predictions of bankruptcy or at least widespread location closures imminent.  But today, grateful sons and daughters treat the local mothers.

Food preparation being one of my sources of personal fulfillment, and as empty nesters, I take responsibility for my children's mother having a memorable dinner.  Planned weeks in advance.  Multiple courses, all cooked and assembled in my own kitchen by her appreciative husband, who makes a decent surrogate for our kids.  Bread needs mixing, rising, punching, forming, a second rise, then baking.  No one part takes a long time but significant time gaps between steps.  Making a cake takes time, even with a stand mixer.  This being a flourless torte, I needed to separate eggs, grind the almonds, beat the whites, mix the yolks, blend sugar, add the extracts, add the ground almonds, fold in the whipped whites, prepare a springform, pour the batter and bake in a preheated oven in two stages.  Then cool, then release from springform and finally make the surface visually attractive.  These two steps took all morning, but done.  Only one more baking project, one that takes about a half hour after some mixing of ingredients.  One salad, takes minutes.  Two stovetop dishes, neither taking very long.  And then an elegant table.  Wash pots, pans, measuring devices, and appliances as I go.  Then elegant table.  Sign card.  A gratifying effort.

Wilmington Flower Market Visit

      

It's been decades since I've been to the Wilmington Flower Market that takes place Thursday through Saturday every Mother's Day weekend.  It used to be an annual outing with my kids, usually Saturday after  shabbos services.  They offered a central free parking location with a shuttle bus.  I could get some tomato saplings which would go into my backyard garden the next day or two.  The children would run around, maybe go on a carnival ride, maybe get treated to ice cream or cotton candy.  Then we'd take the shuttle back to our car.  That was decades ago.  I don't really know why I stopped going.

The local newspaper always had a feature section on the flower market.  They had committees, entirely women.  Many were socially prominent, descendants of the DuPont's or married into the family with its familiar subnames. Many were wives of medical colleagues, registering in my mind as social climbers, though to be fair, quite a number chaired committees and the event was always expertly executed. And really nothing at all snooty about those docs.   No Jewish names, but I just assumed Jews had not yet achieved full acceptance in the generational social tiers, irrespective of their economic attainments and professional stature.  Doubt if that contributed to my loss of interest in attending.

Even it's location hints that you had to be somebody to live nearby.  Art Museum and adjacent mansions two blocks away, Mt Salem Church built originally to service workmen of the expanding enterprises in the 19th century, with its maintained cemetery across the street.  The most exclusive private school around, the place where heirs became literate for generations, around the corner.  Even my section chief, a  man of heritage who married into relatively new money and mastered the skills of social climbing, lived in one of the smaller elegant homes, built before we had McMansions.  He even invited me over once.  

The market itself comprises tents in a preserved area called Rockford Park, known for its stone tower.  No shuttle buses this Thursday afternoon, it's opening day.  They offered parking for $10, helped by police signs to prohibit parking along the closest city streets, and neighbors protecting their own parking spots by wheeling their garbage receptacles beyond the curb.  With some driving, I found a legal space, walked about three blocks past the cemetery, mostly uphill, then a little more uphill to reach the park with its tents.

This event raises quite a lot of money for local children's charities, so I am willing to be a sport.  Vendors from banks to artisans purchase display space.  There's a section for food trucks, the largest collection of them I've seen in any single place in Delaware.  A section for movable carnival rides.  And the tents that display the plants for sale, vegetables in one place, herbs in another, and larger ornamentals needing bigger pots separately near the hanging plants.  

Despite being faithful to my treadmill sessions, age has reduced my ability to walk uphill.  Still, I only sat at a picnic table for a few minutes, taking my time as I admired the contents of the various displays, from food to rides to containers suitable for transplant into my Square Foot Garden.  Not really hungry.  Garden pretty much already planted.  I know the proceeds are for an admirable cause, but I purchased nothing.  

Walking the perimeter counts as laudable outdoor time, steps recorded on my smartwatch.  Returning to my car, with the apprehension that the police would find some reason to place a violation notice under my left windshield wiper, I took my time walking more downhill and over a different route than the one taken to Rockford Park, past what seemed to be the toniest homes in the Highlands neighborhood.  I had parked legally after all.  

Pleasant hour or so, but I understand the multi-decades gap since my last sampling of this iconic local institution.

Morning Routines

My cell phone's suggested reads the past few days have included links to articles on Morning Routines that lead to accomplished days.  I could use some accomplished days.  Some come from psychologists or other academics who study this.  Others are summaries from already successful people who convey their morning activities to admiring interviewers.  Expanding to a Google Search, oodles of these routines appear.  If there are a lot of solutions, probably none of them are any good.

A few suggestions appear repetitively, some of which I do, some I haven't.  Most recommend getting up a little earlier than what your body would do on its own and avoid the snooze alarm.  They all recommend a big glass of water before any coffee.  Going outside appears on a lot of these lists.  As does having a plan for the day composed the previous night.

Tried drinking the water.  Not successful.  Just made a k-cup of Martinson's coffee.  Went outside to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway.  Out of bed time has always been contentious.  My sleep tracker has helped.  When the music comes on I am up.  While I set my wrist alarm for 6:30AM, my internal chemistry puts me asleep at that time after some wakefulness the previous hour.  I suppose I could just do it and form a new habit, which I have done before, but the sleep tracker only delays that by about fifteen minutes and I arise.  Dental hygiene next.  Then downstairs to make coffee, retrieve newspaper so my wife does not have to, wash dishes which has a way of relaxing me, and add water to the chia herb pots if they seem dry.  When my smartphone is at the bedside I check email, otherwise I wait until in My Space with coffee and laptop.  Medicines to the left of the laptop.  Daily activity list to the right.  Then I'm ready to go.  Start with blog entry.  Then decide the must-do's and what would get procrastinated in the absence of targeted focus.

And some days turn out productively gratifying, while others disappoint.  My guess is that these experts are a bit like self-appointed financial gurus who really don't beat the market.  And what works for a CEO may not be transferable to me.

Buying Plants

My indoor starters of tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant did not seem to take root in a meaningful way when transplanted.  Indeed, not may of the seeds planted directly have sprouted.  This week, coinciding with Mother's Day weekend each year, is the local flower market, a charitable event that I've not been to in years, timed as optimal planting time.  If I want tomatoes and peppers from my own garden, I will have to buy starters.  Home Depot had a good price, though very limited selection.  I got two tomato plants and one, set them outside my front door when I got home, watered them in their containers, and will transplant today.  Shop-Rite had a better price but negligible selection.  I'll look around this week.  And I can always go to the annual Flower Market, where plants for transplanting are among the popular offerings.

I also need to get seeds, as my supply of vegetable seeds turned out much less than I thought.  Lettuce sprouted, radishes doing well.  Not sure about yellow squash.  Pak Choi has not emerged from the soil surfaces.  Definitely want cucumbers.  Beans do well, but forager mammals get to them before I do in recent years.  Maybe this year, fewer varieties but committing more squares from my grid to each.

Beets and carrots planted.  I thought there would not be a weed block layer in the location I chose for them but there turned out to be.  Beets have a fighting chance, carrot development unlikely.

Despite the challenges of obtaining a harvest toward summer's end, when I go out to the garden, whether to plant, weed, or water, I enjoy being out there, even if I'm really not very adept at it.

Tossing It

Been organizing a bit.  Done in stages.  Not even close to complete, but enough to see a difference.  Completing My Space recycles itself as a semi-annual initiative, seeing a spurt or two every six months.  The area is divided into zones.  Starting with the closets, I half filled a sturdy lawn and leaf bag very quickly, then it sat for months in a too conspicuous space until last evening.  At a Farmer's Market discount store some time ago, I purchased very flimsy plastic bags super cheap.  Our state no longer allows them as they clutter the environment, though perhaps not, as they tear easy.  The stuff once in them which is no longer in them may be biodegradable.  When I use them in the garden, they tear.  But if I transfer some boxes of games and puzzles with missing pieces, some dead batteries with early leaks, and some plastic clothes hangers that once held children's clothing which has since been donated, I could get that bag into the weekly garbage bin.  I transferred the items from the sturdy bag to the flimsy one.  It tore, but not such a large disruption as to return the items inside to the floor.  I tied the open top, then transported it carefully to the plastic bin in front of my garage for next week's pickup.

Papers are more pervasive, dominating much of my downstairs.  A little at a time, I harvested them from the kitchen and living room, transferring to small corrugated boxes that once held k-cups or beer bottles.  Then I took the box of unsorted papers, got a stack of file folders and labels with a red stripe across the top, along with a pen.  One paper at a time, or a few if clustered, I made a folder for it, alphabetized the folders in anticipation of later papers that can be put there, and in two sessions I finished.  Along the way, some could be recycled, moving a few at a time to a recycling bin in the kitchen.  Others were better shredded, moved to a separate pile, then run through the shredder next to my living room secretary desk.  A few need to go to the synagogue's Genizah where papers with the Name of the Lord are respectfully destroyed, usually by burial as an adjunct to a funeral.  Now I have alphabetized folders in a small box and a handful of scattered papers on the living room floor that can use a new home.  Next, I need to take the files that I made and take them to the file boxes in the living room and laundry room, consolidating them with pre-existing files of the same name if available, recycling the manila folder for another session in a year or two.  One day I will need to go through the files for mega recycling and significant shredding, but for now, just being off the floor and alphabetized in a file box will complete the project.

Then return to the back zone of My Space and the desktop in My Space, both perpetual works in progress.

Do It First

Do the things you are mostly likely to make excuses not to do first.  For me, that's the treadmill, or really tackling the book I've increasingly committed myself to write.  But the treadmill session is far easier to put on a schedule and do it at a set time, usually around 8:30AM on scheduled days.  I don't especially like to stretch either.  That comes at 4PM on scheduled days.  Writing doesn't come as easy to schedule, let alone do first as a task to complete quickly.  My physical sessions get checked off as accomplished, those one and done's.  Mental tasks don't unless I have a submission deadline, which I don't for this landmark work that I want to do.

I have friends and relatives with books to their name, some more than one.  Nearly all my humanities professors have authored books.  And I read articles daily, and about six full books each semi-annual cycle.  So I know it is doable.  And like anything else doable but difficult, specific time needs to be allocated for it.  I've also told a few people of my intentions, which should place my feet a little closer to the fire on getting it done.

Do it first, or at least at a set time.  Pretty successful with exercise.  Reasonably successful with daily reading of The Atlantic-The Forward- TED talk which I target for mid-afternoon every day.  Furrydoc.blogspot.com has accumulated by daily effort each morning.  Hakaras HaTov log filling with entries five days a week.  And a weekly YouTube of Dr. Plotzker's Mind seems to be posted consistently nearly every Monday night.  And my Medscape column made it to the editor on deadline for years, though with the incentive of a contractual payment for performance.

I really want the book as my legacy.  I know how to go about it.  Now I need to go about it.

Creating Dinner Menus

Two upcoming special suppers, Mother's Day and Shavuot.  The latter is typically dairy, with several justifications provided for this by the sages.  Mother's Day is simply a special effort, centerpieced with something either difficult to obtain or difficult to prepare, expanded to something special, though constrained a tad by it falling on Sunday.  Shavuot this year spans Thursday night, which is usually a limited offering of blintzes or quiche, and a more elaborate shabbos dinner, with fish as the centerpiece of a meal that is otherwise dairy.  And perfect excuse to have shabbos guests.

Shavuot menu seemed easier to assemble, as coulibiac makes a perfect main course that I've made enough times before.  It takes some effort, with shopping, preparing the rough puff pastry in advance, and finally baking, after a multi-stepped assembly.  And for dessert, apple walnut pie made famous by the Fish Market of Philadelphia, z"l, where we used to splurge for special occasions.  Then fill in the middle.  A soup, a salad.  No need for starch as the fish pie has rice, and a vegetable.  Then a wine.

Mother's Day is more pluripotent.  I have a veal roast sitting in the freezer forever, far too big for the two of us, though a lot of people now object to veal on ethical grounds so it may not be the best option for guests.  I have a package of sliced corned beef, frozen forever, not likely to appear in the Shop-Rite kosher meat case again.  I bought a brisket on sale and have made my own corned beef from that cut a few times.  And my wife really likes rib steaks, now quite expensive, though excellent cuts just came on the shelf at Trader Joe's.  Probably best option.  And for a fleishig meal, her favorite dessert would be torta del re, which I've made many times.  Intricate preparation, usually comes out very well.  Perhaps I will need to get a spring form once size smaller than the one I've been using.  Then fill out the rest: a starter, a salad, starch, vegetable, wine.

These efforts challenge my imagination and skill.  Since they require planning and sometimes detailed assembly, as well as juggling components at the time of preparation, I find the composite effort personally gratifying.  And somebody else gets to enjoy the result with me.

Chill Snap

Went out to the gardens.  Transplanted tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants remain alive, though less robust than I had hoped they would be.  There are radish sprouts, probably some yellow squash sprouts.  Couldn't tell about the lettuce.  One early sprig of a flower stem in the desk planter boxes.  By the front door, abundant mint, rosemary purchased as a plant holding its own, some sage growing, along with the thyme I had planted around the perimeter of the basil pot.  Some dill, some parsley shoots.  

At Zone 7a, I'm past the freeze.  Yet recent chill and precipitation have inhibited additional plantings.  I want to grow the tomatoes, pepper, and eggplants from seed this year.  In fact, all but rosemary and the mint from seed.  Eventually the weather will warm, a few dry days will allow additional seed into the Square Foot Garden grids, along with carrots and beets in a separate area.  Plants have a way of withstanding whatever the skies sent to them.  They do less well with garden pests, but not much for the insects and bunnies to munch on yet.  Won't be for a while.

Worth the Fee

When I opted to let my medical licenses lapse, that rather large sum of $885 spread over two years would be allocated to immersing myself with other people, as post-retirement senior loneliness has taken hold.  I have forums for engagement, the synagogue where I have been more assertive about bantering at kiddush and OLLI where I randomly pick conversation partners, probably with less success.  None of this comes out of those savings, but are ordinary allocated expenses.  I might rejoin the regional Endocrine Society after a year's absence, if only to sit at a table with other doctors and exchange greetings with pharmaceutical representatives once a month. 

Next week I have the fiftieth anniversary of my college graduation.  Festivities for my landmark class have been arranged.  I knew very few people who RSVPd their intent to be there, yet there are a lot of people.  Cost $50 + parking and missing shabbos, though technically I could go to their Hillel that morning.  Maybe I will.  There are tours.  There is a luncheon, including a Kosher option.  And everyone there has at least one thing in common with me.  And it's immersion in a throng of the unfamiliar, something currently lacking.  Worth the effort.  Worth the fee.

New Places

My car has been my freedom ever since I got one to call my own, and deprivation of freedom prior to that or when unavailable to me.  Periodically my father z"l would take us someplace relatively spontaneously, the World's Fair in Flushing Meadows a few times, once the airport, occasionally to Rockaway.  But I like to get into my car and drive to different places a lot more, and mostly by myself.  Sometimes I plan, but rarely more than a week in advance if no overnight stay is required.

I needed some Me Time, shuled out, Jewed out, still inappropriately resentful of a baalebos who mistreated me in his official synagogue capacity.  Skip shabbos, visit someplace other than synagogue.  In my weekly plan, I designated this a New Place, a place I'd not been to before.

And so at midmorning, after some coffee, I asked the Waze App to direct me to the Lancaster Central Market, which I had heard about as an historical site.  Despite frequent outings to Amish Country, I'd never been there, though had been to the Central Market in York.  I had visited Franklin & Marshall College and Wheatland, both in Lancaster, but never been to the central business district.   Amish country is definitely separate from the seemingly robust mainstream economy of the town.

My GPS gave me the fastest route.  I opted instead for the one I knew well, until a turnoff of minor familiarity, then followed the directions for the final half hour through some pretty seedy parts of the town until arriving at a few blocks far more filled with people than most mid-sized towns on a Saturday morning.  Indeed, the leadership of Lancaster had made the area a gathering place, with the Central Market, open only Tues, Fri, Sat, as its centerpiece.  Parking lots all had Full designations but driving two blocks beyond, I encountered the city's parking garage.  For $2/hr I could take my time, walk around.  

They gentrified the place.  People of all ages.  Complexions maybe less diverse, though not really to the exclusion of anyone.  While the market originated as a farmers market where people could gather to obtain provisions, it now functions more as a food court with stands offering all sorts of options, though seating in the market itself was rather limited.  It seemed far cleaner than the two farmer's markets near me that I frequent periodically, though those are more cheap merchandise oriented with food a secondary consideration and eating places relatively few.  

I settled on a falafel from a transplanted Middle Eastern man with a friendly smile who custom-made my sandwich.  A little mushy perhaps but tasty.  Second choice would have been an open-faced gravlax sandwich from the Scandinavian place, much less filling for about the same price as the falafel.  I took my sandwich outside, a dreary slightly chilly and misty afternoon but with a brick planter ledge to sit on.  Then walked a few blocks.  Then returned for dessert, opting for none.

Back to the car, still within the $2 parking ante.  Decided to go to a winery.  Pennsylvania allows its vineyards to set up a limited number of satellite tasting rooms but I really wanted to go to the vineyard itself, so I did.  A little farther out of the way than anticipated but took me through some pleasant agricultural and dairy operations.  The Waltz Winery has been open about twenty years.  Their tasting offered a mixture of wines from estate grapes, blends, and an apple wine.  I chose my five, sipped slowly, and enjoyed.  Chat with the hostess prior to the selections.  Considered wine glass purchase but more than I wanted to spend and I have ample winery stem and goblet glasses, enough for any reception I could ever host, milchig or fleishig.

GPS directed me home, kinda.  Rejected the Turnpike with its tolls.  Took the GPS directions, ultimately rejecting its transfer to the Lincoln Highway, in lieu of Rt 30.  I thought I would take Rt 896 all the way to my state's university, and did until I came to a cross route, one whose name I recognized in its eastern segment but have never been on its full extent.  I went there instead.  Farmland, the New Bolton Center, eventually what looked like manors of the uber rich.  Never made it through the town of West Chester as anticipated, though south of it.  Having been to football games at their state college's stadium, I recognized the road that I take to get there, proceeding on to the pike that gets me home, which it did.

Tired when I got home, though satisfied.