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.

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And it was morning of the second day. Time for the night shift to leave, their day’s work done, to be replaced by the morning crew, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to be of use to those of us still languishing in our beds. Avi even wrote his name on the whiteboard in my room, so I wouldn’t forget who my nurse would be that day. Would it be too much to ask of you to head down to the family room and bring me back a cup of tea? Being an obliging soul, he did just that, although that’s not what they taught him in nursing school. (‘Place the teabag in the cup and pour in the hot water.’) An hour or so later, the fellow with the breakfast tray would arrive. It wasn’t much, but as they say about beggars… Would it be churlish of me to mention that while my meals would arrive, there was never anyone to remove the tray and whatever was left over. The empty yogurt container and egg shells would await a friend, a family member to do cleanup, or else the trash pile would get bigger and bigger, like the flow of bloody urine in the bags on the floor. Otherwise…Remember, I was still attached, somewhat limiting my mobility.

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One good thing about Shabbat ending at 8:30 and you’re going to be picked up at 8:45 for the ride to the hospital; you don’t have much time to dwell upon all the things that could go wrong while they are supposedly making you better.

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Been there; done that. That laconic response could signify a general lack of enthusiasm for the event and the location now under consideration. But even if the first-go-around was reasonably satisfactory, one might not see any particular advantage to a do-over. Consider our situation. Months ago, we had traveled all the way out to Ein Kerem two times, once for the pre-op appointment and again for the ‘ishpuz’ (where you’re technically admitted, even if you don’t stay there for several days), all with the best of intentions. We thought those formalities were over and done with and the procedure to eliminate the need for my catheter would take place without a hitch, except that a few days later, certain gentlemen – who shall remain nameless – started a war, causing us to spend quality time stretched out in Barbara’s office (a/k/a the mamad) instead of the hospital bed, as we had anticipated.

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Prelude

The four months between when your procedure was supposed to take place and when the folks at the hospital actually got around to yanking out your catheter, did it seem that the days went flying by, or did the time just drag on? Actually neither. These days, I get up in the morning, say my prayers, ending with the shir shel yom, so that I’m clear that it’s Monday, Tuesday, etc., in effect, a new day for me and a reminder that I recited that same psalm a week before, and what did I accomplish in those intervening seven days? I consider the day over and done with when I say goodnight to my wonderful wife, turn off my nightlight, and settle into bed. Whatever I did or didn’t do after I got up, it’s on me. Each day takes the same amount of time, so, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no faster or slower – just better spent or the opposite.

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There is rarely any advantage to having adoring fans overstate your abilities. I keep reminding folks that I am a decent cook but not a chef; that I like my wine, spirits, and coffee but I’m not, by any stretch of the imagination, an expert in imbibation – if that’s a word. On the other hand, if people take you too seriously, at least they won’t forget about you at critical moments. As in: friends of ours were zipping around The States, and Shoshana wound up in Teaneck, NJ, our old stomping grounds, just in time to pick up a copy of the Jewish Link Summer Food & Drink supplement to their Shavuot edition. She gave her copy a quick perusal, then thought to herself, This is more than I need, but I’ve gotta bring it back for Fred, which she did. And therein is the beginning of a story, which will unfold, providing that you have a modicum of patience and a little bit of time.

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One Size Does Not Fit All

and what’s sauce for the goose may not be sauce for the gander – whatever that’s supposed to mean. There are principles, there are generalities, but they don’t always work, just as the clothes that fit me ten years ago are a wee too tight around the waist these days. What am I hinting at? A few articles ago I was waxing rhapsodic about the value of home ownership, and that works most of the time for most people. But, as I am implying, not always. Consider, if you will, the situation faced by our friends, Michael and Tehilla, when they had no choice but to sell their apartment and revert to renting, all of which I will explain below – as well as what it has to do with alleged topic of this article, something about fine dining.

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The invitation we received for dinner was somewhat unusual, but nothing to write home about. What happened once we got there was……well, I’ll get to that in due time. Just hold your horses.

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At last, a ‘Word of the Day’ that I can use in an article. In fact, the one I’m working on now. Every morning, Barbara’s phone gives her a different word, most of which none of us has ever heard of, many of which became archaic three hundred years ago. In fact, one may wonder, are they making these up? The word of the day on May 5, 2026 was ‘clowder,’ described as referring, among other things, to a herd of cats. Let me check this out. Does anybody else in Ma’ale Adumim, in Israel, or anywhere else on this blessed planet have the formidable two volume set of The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary – complete with magnifying glass so you can read the tiny print – anybody in addition to David Brownstein and myself? I pulled mine down, and, sure enough, there is a brief reference to ‘clowder’ as a variant of ‘cludder,’ probably related to ‘clutter,’ as in a mass of stuff, which might include a herd of cats.

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Yom Haatzmaut is, what, in two weeks? I need to contact Jeff and June and make sure we’re getting together.

Some habits die hard; some you never want to let go of. For eighteen years – with a few exceptions caused by temporary unavailability, epidemics, or wars – we and the Glazers, longtime friends from Teaneck, have spent quality time together on this notable day of the Israeli calendar. It just wouldn’t be the same without them. (And again, the lack of an index to posts about previous occasions is unfortunate.) When the four of us first arrived here, we began going to barbecues at friends of our friends in Rosh Haayin, which tradition continued until, out of the blue, the man and his wife were no longer living together, and we were left to fend for ourselves. Jeff picked up the slack for a few years at their home in The Gush, and then, by mutual consent, we would meet at a restaurant somewhere in Jerusalem. The dairy restaurant Piccolino was our venue of choice, until we had a better idea. One of the bands in which our friend Arvin plays the trumpet started performing at the First Station every Independence Day. Why don’t the Casdens and the Glazers meet up there, have lunch at a dairy restaurant, and mosey over to the bandstand in time to hear the music? That worked for several years, but not this year—for reasons we can only assume has something to do with ‘the situation.’

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