I called my mom on Mother’s Day and sang her this song from Peter Pan that she used to sing to me when tucking me in at night. I tried to subtitle, but I couldn’t figure it out. The lyrics are:
The angel voice that bids you goodnight
Kisses your cheek, whispers ’sleep tight’
Your mother and mine
Your mother and mine
The helping hand that guides you along
Whether you’re right, whether you’re wrong
Your mother and mine
Your mother and mine
What makes mothers all that they are?
Might as well ask what makes a star
Ask your heart to tell you her worth
Your heart must say heaven and earth
Another word for divine
Your mother and mine
Your mother and mine
I’d like a vote: is this what you would call extra extra lettuce on a BLT (Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato) sandwich?
I call it barely enough lettuce for a regular BLT. The first time I ordered one of these from the cafe in my office building, they served it with one thin piece of green leaf lettuce. So the second time I asked for “extra lettuce” and I got two thin leaves of green lettuce. The third time, I asked if they had any iceberg lettuce to make the sandwich wetter. They said no, so I asked for “extra extra” lettuce, and I got this: two or three leaves of thin green lettuce.
And don’t give me any guff about being a Jew and eating bacon and kvetching about the lack of lettuce when I said I’d try to complain less. This isn’t complaining, it’s critiquing. I’m a food critic now; haven’t you heard? Of course I’m grateful to have food to eat (God knows we live in a world in which people starve to death), but I still have my wishes, and I wish for a moist BLT with lots of lettuce. Yeah! =)
…maybe. I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking and feeling about a lot of things, really– too much to tell you.
But what is the omer? The omer is a period of counting that is a mitzvah or “commandment” in the Jewish Bible. Jews are supposed to count the days from Pesach to Shavuot to mark the journey from Exodus (freedom from bondage) to Mount Sinai (communally experiencing the presence of God in a deep and miraculous way and receiving the Torah). It is traditionally a period of semi-mourning, reflection, and, among other things, not shaving or getting a haircut.
To tell the truth, I have never counted the days between Pesach and Shavuot; in fact, now I would have to think… ah, yes, today is the ninth day of Omer. But something the rabbi said, half in jest, about having “rabbinical permission to grow a beard over the next seven weeks” got me to thinking not only about growing a beard, but also about how I might seize upon an opportunity to have a religious experience. Or at least enhance the spirituality of my life for a while.
I’m at the point where I hate my beard. It itches, and I think it makes me look old, mean, and ugly. I took this photo now in case I can’t stand it anymore and I shave it all off. But maybe I’m also taking this photo as a way of reflecting more deeply on having some patience with this process.
It is difficult to sit with that which itches at one and makes one feel old, mean, and ugly. Like my kvetching. I complain. I do it several times a day, often without even thinking. Sometimes my first words in the morning are a form of complaint. This is something I would like to tackle during the next six weeks.
This isn’t complaining, it’s critiquing. I’m a food critic now; haven’t you heard? Of course I’m grateful to have food to eat (God knows we live in a world in which people starve to death), but I still have my wishes, and I wish for a moist BLT with lots of lettuce. Yeah! =)
