If there’s one thing that really scares me about my generation it’s our reliance on medication. Or maybe reliance is the wrong word. Maybe I mean using it as a substitute or a panacea. The older I get the more I become aware of how dependent we have become on products, pills and creams.
It used to be my embarrassing secret, like a schoolgirl who didn’t actually do her homework. Everyone would be talking about their turkeys, and guest lists, and leftovers, and I’m over here shopping for Shabbos dinner. After a number of years my husband would go buy some smoked turkey and have some on Thursday just so he could tell people he had his Thanksgiving turkey.
Part 1: My Grandmothers
Eat, eat mammele. Ess upp. Groise oigen. Your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Kugel and cholent and challah and sugar cookies. Pizza and fries. Studying for high school finals with a can of Coke and a bag of mesquite potato chips in my room above the garage. Every time. Effortless and guileless.
I turned 43 yesterday, which is something I’m very grateful for. My father died when he was 30 and I am painfully aware that each year is a blessing. Each year brings new wisdoms and awareness that I’d never trade for a slightly more youthful self.