Passover Pizza Aria

WEDNESDAY

APRIL 8, 2020

As I opened my eyes this morning I reached for my phone so I could use my Breathing App right away. Where was it? Couldn't find it. Was this one of those misplaced on Ambien things? So right away, I jumped out of bed and began a cleaning search. I live in a tiny apartment. My desk is not a desk at all. It's a tiny IKEA night stand. And I hate to say it, but my queen excessively sized bed acts as my desk. Yes, I climb over things to sleep. Perhaps this explains a portion of my insomnia issues. And in the middle of my mad morning cleaning, I found my phone, just below the head of my bed. The last app I had used was my Breathing App, as I fell asleep the night before.

Immunity Defense. Home brewed iced tea. Journaling on the fire escape.

Smoothie: home brewed iced tea base, soaked superfoods cereal, frozen mixed fruit. Simple, simple, simple. Less is more.

I worked a great deal this morning on being employed, but without an income. It's tricky. Not as easy as you might think.

I made the most incredible vegan stew out of leftovers: Muir Glen tomato sauce and tofu spread, water, broccoli, peas, rice, and a small container of even more leftovers, which included either a Hilary's burger, or seitan, or both.

I did 47 minutes of Tai Chi. I have a number of videos saved to a You Tube playlist. I especially like YOQI.

I created art, then took a 1/2 Ambien at 10:03pm, and then got drowsy enough to crawl into bed about 40 minutes later. I know I know I know. Will I ever learn? The good news is that I'm down to a half each night. I am going to bed later, which was the goal, and I'm getting better sleep. I fell asleep to my Breathing App.

@TheBreathingApp

@Moby

@DeepakChopra

@OmMushrooms

@vigilanteats

@MuirGlen

@Hilaryseatwell

@Uptonsnaturals

@yoqi.yogaqigong

@amyskitchen

@cjack930

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I find it colossally odd that I spent my Passover Seder last night, home alone, eating an entire Amy's frozen pizza. But I must say, the vegan pepperoni was delicious, perfectly spiced. They can count as a burnt offering, no?

Passover has become quite tricky for me, so I choose not to put pressure on myself as to how I think it should be, or how it was.

About 10 years after my family moved to Massapequa, Grandma Bella came to live with us. She had remained in The Bronx on her own. She had been a widow for decades.

Now when I was little, I used to refer to her as "Grandma From the Train," since she used to take the Long Island Rail Road to come to visit us. And I'm sure that I'm doing the right thing by sharing this, I also thought that she was on the one dollar bill. I was around four years old, maybe five. By six I was already into politics. I would look at a single and see an old European with white hair and fake teeth. My dad's favorite party trick was to pull one out and ask me in front of people, "Karen, who's this." "Grandma Bella," I was sure of it. It was the most organic mother-in-law joke every, and it would only cost my dad a buck.

Imagine me in my adulthood, ushering Hamilton. Seeing this sexy, stage commanding Christopher Jackson, stepping out each night as Washington. All I could think was, that's no Grandma Bella From the Train.

But she could most certainly be a general, especially at Passover time. It all had to be conducted to her specifications. All of the meat and dairy dishes, pots and pans, and silverware had to be brought downstairs. All of their Passover only counterparts wer brought up after the cabinet shelves had been scrubbed. The refrigerator and freezer were cleaned out as well. There were even Passover only salt and pepper shakers, tea kettle, and butter dish.

Now again, by comparison, my dad came from a larger family, who all had families of their own. My mom was an only child, who lost her father in 1957. All we had left were her and Grandma Bella.

So our Seders were interesting, long, and boring. It was also the Grandma Bella show, "Here comes the general!" It was her and her alone who participated, reading from her own Haggadah, which was one of her few remaining possessions from Europe. She read the entire thing, mumbled aloud in Hebrew the entire time.

Now once I started Hebrew school, and learned to read the language, I loved reciting the Four Questions. It was my time to shine. My dad loved every single line I ever drew on a piece of paper, and I enjoyed making him proud.

But then there was the rest of the show.

Imagine watching Anamaniacs, followed by a really bad low and off key aria, for three hours.