When my daughter was three, she would ask her new friends-are you Christmas or Hannukah?
So, just to get this out of the way, I am Passover, not Easter.
Here is a photograph of me on the eve of my first Passover of '69. I am watching my Grandpa (whose library back then was already formidable) preparing a mixture of apples, ground nuts, wine and cinnamon which is called "haroset", and which I find addictive to this day.
My Grandma is not in the photo because she was very, very busy. She was very, very busy:
- Packing up her entire kitchen into boxes (including the entire pantry)
- Moving the boxes to the basement
- Cleaning the entire kitchen meticulously
- Lining every shelf, cupboard and counter with plastic sheeting (the table I'm sitting on is already covered, as you can see)
- Bringing up boxes labelled "Passover" from the basement
- Unpacking an entirely new kitchen from these boxes. This included two sets of cutlery and crockery (one for meaty, one for milky), two sets of pots and pans (ditto), and a huge assortment of cake-pans, and a mix-master
- Going to the "kosher shop" and buying a huge amount of foodstuffs all labelled "kosher for Passover"
- Coming home and placing everything in the newly-lined pantry
- Cooking a three-course meal for 30 relatives
- Baking a huge amount of flourless cakes, which all rose beautifully (I know, I have no idea either), were delicious, and were given to the relatives to take home and enjoy the next day
I am sitting now on my bed writing this, still in my pyjamas (unlike Kim who apparently blogs in the nude, hehe), and wondering where I stand this Passover. How much energy do I have? Is my faith strong enough to move entire kitchens? I'm afraid that, this year, the answer may be no.
But I do miss my Grandma. Very, very much.