Esther

Casa Del Agatestone has never had a Purim celebration. But, this year, I've decided to commemorate the holiday, and to whit, I baked hamantaschen for the first time. These triangular cookies represent the three-sided hat that the evil Haman wore in the book of Esther.

Of course I put a spin on these cookies. I tried the traditional poppyseed filling, and sadly, didn't care for it. So, I prepared a fig filling traditionally used in Italian cuccidati cookies. I enjoyed these fig-filled hamantaschen greatly.

Musings

Just a lot of gibberish that is going through my head:

1) Yeah, when I'm working at the museum, I want to touch the art work too, but I don't, and you shouldn't either. Please.



2) To the guy from work who told me I am antisocial because I picked the lox out of the cream cheese: I wasn't being antisocial. I calculated in my head the number of people at work who would be apt to eat lox, and I calculated the amount of cream cheese with lox (two containers) and I assumed that the people who I expected to eat the cream cheese with lox wouldn't mind if I picked out some of the lox to eat without the cheese. I was very calculating, but obviously, I calculated wrong, because you were quite adament that I was the scum of the earth for doing this. But, I found one of the men who I am positive eat the cream cheese with lox and told him what I had done and he was behind me on this. He didn't mind that I picked the lox out of the cream cheese. In fact, he told me that next time, I should just take one of the tubs of cream cheese with lox for myself.



3) Do I have what it takes to make an argyle sweater work? I don't want to look nerdy. I want to look smartsy (smart and artsy). I can pull this look off sometimes, but I'm not sure if I'll be going too far with an argyle sweater.




4) I'm really looking forward to Passover, but for all the wrong reasons. Yeah, there's religion, food, culture, tradition on Passover, which I love, but there is something else about Passover that I adore. It's Israeli Nestle's Quik. Sounds weird, eh? Stores that sell Jewish food around here only sell Israeli Nestle's Quik on Passover, and it's the only time during the year that I can revel in Nestle's Quik, unlike the millions of people who drink it all year around. You see, American Nestle's Quik has powdered milk in it, which I am unable to drink due to my annoying milk allergy. But, Israeli Nestle's Quik contains no milk products and I am able to partake in it. I can mix it with water, and drink it either hot or cold. No, Quik mixed with water isn't gross if you're desperate enough, trust me. So, Passover is almost upon us and soon, I will be stocking up on Israeli Nestle's Quik. I try to ration enough for the entire year, but sadly, I generally am finished with all of the tubs of Israeli Nestle's Quik that I purchase by May.

How can I tell if I have a concussion?

One would think those are rare words to come out of someone’s mouth, but my mother, father and sister are quite used to me posing this question of them, as I did with my mother this morning. OK. So, I’m clumsy. Very clumsy. Yes, maybe I should check with a medical professional, and I know three, when I think I have a concussion, need stitches, or am suffering from the plague, salmonella, etc., but, my three medical professional friends/cousin would find that answering my questions would be a full-time job. As I said, I am very, very clumsy.

Let’s go back to 5 a.m. this morning. I awoke, and without turning the light on, went to use the facilities. I returned to the warmth of my bed, wishing to resume my slumber, but before I could go back to sleep, I needed a drink of water.

I began to prop myself up on my elbow to reach for the glass of water that I knew I had left on my nightstand the night before. As I put my elbow down to prop myself up, I realized, in a split second, that I was laying too close to the edge, and my elbow came down on nothing, just air. I toppled out of bed and concluded my fall by ramming the side of my head and my ear into my nightstand. To make matters worse, when I felt my head to see if there was blood, my hair was indeed wet. “Oh brother,” I thought. “Now I have to go get stitches.”

But, thankfully, after I finally turned the light on, I realized the reason my hair was wet was that it had been flung into the cup of tea that I got up in the middle of the night to make. I didn’t find any blood, just a big knot on the side of my head. Oh, and the water glass that I was seeking wasn’t even on my nightstand; it was across the room.

Even though I had no intention of being awake at 5 in the morning, now I was scared to fall back asleep. I’m not sure what happens when you fall asleep while suffering from a concussion, but it’s probably not something I want to find out.

So, after inquiring of my mother (I consult with my father about open wounds, my sister about viral and orthopedic problems, and my mother handles the neurological questions) about whether she thought I had a concussion, she asked me a few questions and we determined that I am healthy. Although, I must admit that my brain was feeling a bit sloshy this morning. That feeling seems to have gone away though, and I feel as fit as a fiddle now.

Help Save Soviet Jewelry

So, every weekend as a child, we drove to my grandmother's place on the west side, in a predominately Jewish neighborhood. She lived very near a synagogue that for many years had a banner in place in the front of the building. We passed by it every weekend. I read it every weekend. I thought I understood it. I thought that the banner meant that we as Americans needed to band together to convince the Soviets to send over all of the abandoned jewelry that Russian immigrants were forced to leave behind when they emigrated to the US. It took me a long time, in fact, probably longer than it should have to read the banner as it really was written: "Help Save Soviet Jewry." A different sentiment altogether.

smelly fish

It was a great day today. I hesitate saying that because I could potentially jinx myself and everything could go to pot. But, I am taking a chance.

The day started out early. 6:38 a.m. to be exact. I donned old jeans, an oversized sweatshirt, long parka, wool socks and my new boots that are rated to eleven below zero Fahrenheit and went outside to engage my favorite winter activity: shoveling the driveway at Casa Del Agatestone. It was quiet. Everything seemed hushed thanks to the blanket of snow that had been falling for about 18 hours straight. I could hear the hum of a snowblower in the distance, but near me, everything was still. It was a wonderful start to the day, being able to be outside in the calm, breathing in fresh air instead of the circulated air we’ve been forced to breathe all winter.

Now, of course, the day wasn’t all bunnies and rainbows. I did have one major misstep. After washing and drying my hair this morning, I stood in front of the mirror, mentally thinking about all the things I had to do today. I reached for my face cream, squeezed some out onto my hands, and proceeded to rub the face cream in my already done hair, as I would rub in hair gel. Why did I do this? I have no answer, but I had no time to wash my hair again, so to try to hide the grease of the face cream, I pulled my hair back in a ponytail. Yes, my hair is limp today and smells different than usual. I can’t wait to wash it tonight. The only explanation I have is that I was distracted, kind of like the time I came home from the grocery store and put the package of fresh fish in the pantry instead of the freezer. Or, the time I walked around looking for my eye glasses and they were already on my face. Or, the time I walked around looking for my car keys, when they were in my purse as usual. Or the time I purchased some ornamental grasses from the open air market in Detroit and then, a few weeks after planting them, I couldn’t figure out why there were clumps of grass in the garden and proceeded to yank them out! I could go on and on.

Chanukia. Hanukiyah.

So, my latest dream. I'm in Ann Arbor with the Amnesiac Concert Flautist's sister and mother. We are shopping. What pray tell are we shopping for? High-end hot chocolate mix. The ACF's mother has found a store that sells expensive and very tasty cocoa. It's so high end, that they keep it in the back. It's only for special customers. So, we get to the store and the salesgirl ushers the ACF's sister and me to the back of the store to peruse the hot cocoa. We make our selections and as we are ready to pay for our purchases, we notice a basket filled with marked down menorahs. So, we look through the basket. All of the menorahs are broken. Most are missing one branch. I am bound and determined to buy a menorah, so we look at each one, trying to find one that is unbroken. The least of the damaged menorahs, one which only has a bent branch, a branch that is not sheared clean off, as in the case of the other menorahs, is unfortunately, an electric menorah. I have to buy the menorah even though I don't like it. Why don't I like it? Because, and this is something I don't think anyone knows, even the Breakfast Czar, but I have never liked electric menorahs. I always thought they were cheating. That they were for people who could not be bothered to light a candle. Yes, obviously, I am wrong. I am sure there are many fine people who prefer electric menorahs and of course I support their choice of Hanukkah illumination devices. But they are not for me.

I actually had one more dream after this one. It involved two cousins arguing over a math problem, while their father was tending to a pack of very large rabbits and allowing them to run loose in their house.

Limes and brown rice

So, I was living the glamorous life of an advertising professional all week. When I say glamorous, I really mean long hours, hot tempers, lack of food and symptoms of scurvy. I literally ate bread sticks and bean dip for dinner three out of four nights last week. The fourth night, I ate old rice and soy sauce. For a change, on the fifth night, I ate hummus and bread sticks, which I guess, when you think about it, is just a fancy shmancy way of saying I ate bean dip and bread sticks on Friday as well. I didn’t even look at a piece of fruit or a vegetable all week. I had no time or energy to venture out to find some healthy food. So, this description gives you the common scenario of an advertising professional during the busy season.

Our story begins on Friday morning. I was tired, hungry, showing symptoms of scurvy and at the end of my rope. On my way to work, I decided to stop for some good coffee. I had three cents on me. There was no time all week to stop at the bank. The place where I wanted to purchase the cup of coffee, the cup of coffee that would soothe my nerves and bring a bit of comfort unto my life, only took charge cards for purchases over 5 bucks. So, I stopped at one ATM for cash; it was broken. I stopped at another ATM for cash; it too was broken. I needed this coffee. It was my quest. I was mulling about in my head the hairbrained idea of having the Breakfast Czar wire money to me in the next 15 minutes so that I could get my coffee.

Thankfully, when I got to the coffee place, I had another idea. I ordered a half-dozen bagels and my cup of coffee. No, I was not in the mood for bagels. I had been eating bread all week in the form of breadsticks. I had no desire to eat a bagel, let alone six bagels. But, I needed my total to reach 5 bucks. So, I ordered the first thing I could think of (a half-dozen bagels) to bring my total up so that I could receive the coffee that I so desperately needed. Sadly, the total for the six bagels and the coffee only came to 4 dollars and 65 cents. I had to think fast. I asked the woman for one more bagel. Yes, I went over 5 dollars and would now be allowed to use my charge.

But, what was I to do with seven bagels? Seven unwanted and unneeded bagels. I threw the bag of bagels in the back of my car and proceeded to work, savoring my cup of coffee.

I drove around for the next two days, occasionally remembering that I had seven bagels in the back of my car. Don’t worry. It’s 11 degrees here in my corner of the mitten. I checked periodically on the bagels and they were frozen solid.

This morning, I breakfasted with the Breakfast Czar. On our way back to her apartment, I offered her my bagels. I actually kept one bagel for myself, for the hour drive home, and gave her the other six. She seemed delighted. So, everything turned out for the best, and I even managed to buy an orange this weekend to ward off scurvy. I haven’t actually eaten the orange, but it’s on the counter and I have passed by it every once in a while this weekend. I’ll eventually eat it…maybe.

Goat's milk and black rice

As I have nothing, absolutely nothing to write about today, I will talk about my least favorite foods. Yes, I expect this to be a boring post, but I just have nothing else in my brain to talk about. The two foods that I hate the most are black rice and goat's milk. I bought the black rice salad once at Whole Foods and it was the most horrible dish I have ever had. And, I also tried goat's milk once. It was the most horrid beverage I have ever partaken in. I will never, hopefully, ever eat black rice or drink goat's milk again. And I will try to think of something interesting to write about next time. Any ideas?

kittens, puppies, goat cheese, Fred

My favorite site. You can rank the occurances in the news of anything that you want. Peanut and butter. Starsky and Hutch, apples and pummelos, it doesn't matter. Try it!