BoomerGirl Diary

Last week, I placed a very long distance call to my grandmother. I needed some reassurance. Our conversation went something like this:

“Hi Grandma, what’s new?”

“Everything’s old, including me.”

“What’s it like up there?”

“Very nice. They have a lovely fruit compote.”

“So listen, Grandma, I’m doing Passover this year and --”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. To be honest, I’m a little overwhelmed. I’m having 18 people.”

“It could be worse. You could be having 20.”

“That’s true.”

“You’ve set the table?”

“Not yet. It’s a week away.”

“So?”

“So… isn’t it a little early?”

“It’s never too early to set the table. In my book, a week’s already too late. I started two weeks ahead. Sometimes three.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only way to avoid catastrophe.”

Now I was getting worried. “What could happen, Grandma?”

“You put it off, you get a big shock. You find out you don’t have enough spoons, enough forks. Now you start banging on neighbors’ doors. You got an extra soup spoon for me, a butter knife? What they’ve got for you is bupkis. Why should they help you? They’ve got their own table to worry about. It’s nothing but tsouris. Why put yourself through that? You’re already cooking for 18. That’s enough aggravation for a person.”

“That’s good advice, Grandma. Anything else I should know?”

“Put your chicken in now. It might get a little dry. No one will care. Everyone’s so full from the gefilte and the matzo balls, the chicken’s just decoration.”

“Anything else?”

“The most important rule of all, at the seder, not a nibble till you get through the entire Haggadah. It only takes five hours, tops. People may faint from hunger, children may get hysterical, but trust me, it’s worth it.”

“Five hours, Grandma. That’s a long time.”

“It’s a good story. They made a movie. Charlton Heston played Moses. ”

“You might bump into him up there. So, any more words of wisdom?”

“You can’t go wrong with a nice honey cake.”

“Honey cake. I’ll put it on the list. Thanks, Grandma. Love you.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

I hung up the phone and started setting the table. It was more involved than I realized. There was no way I could get 18 people around my table. Soon I was bringing in card tables and patio furniture and folding chairs from the garage. I was taping tablecloths together. I was gathering a funky congregation of cutlery; forks and spoons that had never met before and weren’t too happy about it. My wedding silverware was slumming it next to my everyday flatware. My mother’s gold knives were sharing space with some tacky Target utensils. Much like Moses, I could see trouble up ahead. I parted the gold from the nickel plated, the pricey from the cheap, and there was peace once more at the table.

Then I stood back and admired my work. And just like that, it hit me. It’s official. I’ve become my grandmother. I hope I make her proud.