What in heaven’s name is that?

Yes, frame it. That’s a suggestion I received from a regular reader after my previous post. My faithful fans have permission to take me literally, even when I am engaged in a flight of fancy. If I mentioned taking my last catheter with me as a souvenir, the one the nurse deftly removed from my person, with the thought of having it framed, was that something that was really on my mind at the time? The plain and simple truth was that I was too stressed out to entertain any coherent plan beyond getting myself cleared for discharge and getting the hell out of the hospital, and, therefore, I did not lay claim to this piece of tubing that had played such an important part of my well-being only a few hours before (a/ka, one of those little things in life). No doubt, it wound up in the garbage along with the half-filled urine bags that came with it. But now that I think about the matter in the clear light of day, the topic seems to me more likely to be a stand-up routine at an American comedy club.

(Now I’ve got this catheter and I’m going to get it framed, because what else am I going to do with it? So I bring it to the art supply store down the block. But they’re not just going to stick it in a frame. First, they are going to need an explanation, which is more than I planned to provide to a random bunch of strangers. I hand the thing to the young woman behind the counter. And she asks, ’what in heaven’s name is that? I say, it’s a catheter.’ ‘A what?’ ‘A catheter.’ She takes it and disappears into the back room. Then this middle-aged woman, obviously her boss, comes out holding the object in question for all to see. ‘I hate to be nosy, but is this a religious object?’ (roars of laughter from the audience) ‘Is this some kind of art work?’ (more laughter) ‘Or an antique?’ (still more laughter). So now I wind up explaining to the two of them and all the customers in the store all about my urinary problems. ‘I couldn’t pee, all right…..’) You will not see this clip on YouTube.

When you have a wonky bladder

It’s been a while now. How are you doing? How are you feeling?

Many of you are fellow Oy-Veyers. Some of you have spent ‘quality time’ in hospitals recovering from surgery, and you know it takes time to heal and get your strength back. But when you have a wonky bladder, that adds another dimension to the problem. So far, so good, as far as I’m concerned. I haven’t had to change my clothes in the middle of the day because, well, you can imagine without my having to spell it out (as opposed to leaking out). Also, I haven’t had a moment of pain, something you shouldn’t take for granted.

It did occur to me that if I had had the surgery as originally scheduled on March 1 when it wasn’t so beastly hot, I might not have felt so tired. But I would have been rushed into Pesach cleaning, and therefore I would have been doubly fatigued. Try cleaning an oven when all you want to do is crawl back into bed. So you pays your money and you takes your choice.

Once we got back home from the hospital on that fateful Tuesday, it took me several days to muster the stamina to take out the garbage or walk around the corner, replacing Barbara in feeding my street cats. By the following week, I was able to board the bus to the mall. And so it went. Think you might make it to shul; it’s mostly uphill? I’ll just walk slowly and rest for a minute on the bench by the bus stop. Slow and steady wins the race, or words to that effect.

Sometimes it pays to be forthright, as in no beating about the bush. I got a message from Stephanie at Power Coffeeworks, asking how I was doing. Don’t have a lot of energy. Also don’t have a lot of coffee. Timing is everything. It just so happened that she was coming our city that evening. How about if I put in an order? You’re not coming just for me, I hope. If so, I’ll save you the trouble and make do. But if you’re coming anyway, how about 200g of the Colombian Volcan light, 200g of the Tarrazu medium, and 100g of a dark roast.  I heard nothing more about it, and as there was no knock on our door, I went to bed, assuming an aborted mission. I guess she’s not coming; I’ll make do with what I have. Next morning, I opened our front door as usual to retrieve our newspapers, and there it was, my coffee order, three bags full! (Just so you know, I combined the three, a light roast, a medium, and a dark roast, Papua New Guinea, into an amazing blend. Try it, you’ll like it.) I strongly maintain that it’s the little things in life that make it all worthwhile. Although describing first rate coffee as a ‘little thing in life’ does not do it justice.

Did you put a stop to having people over? Not our weekly kiddush, that would be like cancelling Shabbat altogether, but having fewer people over for full-fledged meals Fri. night or lunch, seemed prudent. The Levines did show up as scheduled for a Monday afternoon to Fri. morning visit, but that I could handle. Grind up enough of my new blend for Barbara L., whip up a few omelets for everyone to get us started in the morning, and contribute my share to the on-going pontification sessions. Otherwise, it was buckle myself into the back seat of the Levine-mobile and get driven around.

Tzuba Winery Redux

May we assume you went to a winery? Does the Pope live in or near the Vatican? We journeyed to Tzuba, a middle-size winery, whose wine punches well above their reputation. The four of us had been there several years before, and we still fondly remember our last visit and the three guys from the Five Towns we met there. They were married to three sisters, who, along with their children, had been sent off to the amusement park below, leaving the three guys alone at the winery. They weren’t there just for a ‘tasting’, a few sips of this, a few sips of that, with some cheese and other snacks to go along, the way it usually works. These brothers-in-law had on their table a bottle of each wine available, which they were draining with gusto. With them was this Hareidi type, who was leading everyone in song.  Wait a minute; he’s the driver? Turns out he was as sober as the proverbial judge. He just liked to sing. Maybe you had to be there…

Was the amusement park assembled only for special occasions like chol hamoed, or was it a permanent fixture? In case you are wondering, it’s a permanent part of Kibbutz Tzuba, and it was doing a lot more business the second time we came than the winery, I guess because school was out and every kid in the country was at some kind of camp. Richard was making his way slowly through the parking lot looking for a ‘big, fat juicy one’ for the Levine-mobile. What happened next was a case of ‘blame the other guy with a straight face,’ an art form that certain politicians (who shall remain nameless) have mastered. There were all these kids with their red camp tee-shirts coming our way, walking on both sides of the road. Out of nowhere, one of the kids, for reasons best known to him, decided to run right in front of our car. Richard slammed on the brakes; scary, but no harm. Shouldn’t there have been an adult walking ahead of the kids? There was said adult, but he was on his phone, walking behind with a second group of kids,. What should he have done in this situation? Or let’s rephrase it: What’s the one thing he shouldn’t have done? Which is exactly what he did, start yelling at us, because obviously (obviously!) it was our fault that he wasn’t paying attention. (Richard, just park the car; there’s no point…)

We had made a reservation at the winery for 12:30 because they were booked solid for 1PM. Except that there almost no one there at 12:30 or at 1. The one woman working there took care of us properly, and we sampled what was on offer. And then… If you are on an outing with The Levines, it is almost a certainty that they will get into a conversation with friends that they have never met before, in this case, two women who wound up sharing some of their meal with us. Their focaccia is a hell of a lot better than the packaged bread we were served.

Can we get some coffee?, I innocently asked our server.The simple answer was ‘lemata,’ as in, ‘We don’t serve coffee in the winery, but if you head down to the amusement park, you’ll find a place.’ Off I went, in search of one hafuk with soy milk for me and one regular hafuk for Barbara L.,– not the quality beverages you would get at Power Coffeeworks, but you take what you can get and be thankful. Make sure I don’t mix the two up on the way back. The lids for the cups didn’t seem to fit, so I started off holding two open cups. Remember, mine is in my left hand, Barbara’s in my right hand. No big deal, it’s not that far. All I had to do was retrace my steps and return to the winery, a five-minute walk, assuming you remember the way you came, otherwise… Did I come down this way; I don’t remember what I’m looking at.  I could see the parking lot, so I knew where I would wind up if I just kept walking up the hill, trying not to spill too much coffee. I didn’t have much choice; I wasn’t going to go back down and start all over again. The good news was that I realized I could walk a lot farther than I thought I could, even in the mid-day sun, as long as I didn’t rush – which was good to know. I returned to the winery twenty minutes later with most of the coffee still hot enough to drink and only a few sips-worth spilled on my pants. No surprise, I discovered my gregarious friends engaged in conversation with still another couple, whom they might have met before at some point. Go into the office; pay for the wine and cheese we had consumed, as well as a few bottles to take with us. And yes, they did have their wonderful dessert wine for us to purchase.

We were on our way out, but… Isn’t that the same guy we saw before in the parking lot? Of course he recognized us, and if looks could kill… But they don’t. Remember, sticks and stones can break my bones, but glares can never harm me. Aren’t you glad?