crisis and sadness

Yesterday my husband and I were out in the country swimming at a lake. Out youngest called. He was having an allergic reaction to SOMETHING. We still aren't exactly sure what, but he was feeling a bit alarmed.

He and I talked through possible courses of action- take an antihistamine, go to one of the local urgent care centers, go to an ER. At first the antihistamine seemed like the way to go. Within a few minutes between texts and phone calls it was clear that a visit to the urgent care center was the prudent thing to do. I figured he was OK.

I went for a short swim and checked my phone. My son sent me a text that the urgent care center had sent him on to the ER. My husband and I packed up and raced back to the city, an hour away.

Our two other kids abandoned their Sunday afternoon plans and rushed to the ER to be with their brother.

By the time I had arrived my son looked like this.

His allergic reaction had receded. The hives were gone. The swelling in his mouth was gone. The meds used to get him there had left him  kind of limp.

Those of you with sharp eyes may notice the stirrups. The ER was crowded so my son got put in the gynecological exam room in the ER. 

Eventually my son was discharged.

We ate at a local diner. A little food or in my son's case-- a lot, helped him return to something closer to his usual self.

This morning my older son mentioned while eating breakfast that the day was so stressful for him that he felt completely hung over. I was so touched that our kids were so willing to be present for their brother.

We dropped our sons off at home and then drove our daughter home to the Bronx.

The sun was just beginning to set.

I thought I might be able to capture some images of the sky on our way north. It's a little tricky to take a photo from the front passenger seat out the rear driver side window but I did manage to get one good shot of the sky over the Hudson River.

Once we got to Washington Heights we turned back on to Broadway and I was able to take a couple of photos of this truly excellent supermarket.

My daughter informed us that despite the excellent facade this market is actually terrible.

There were some wonderful clouds in the Bronx

We drove under the George Washington Bridge.

We all sat in a stupor once we got home.

This morning we had the hard job of attending our friend Larry's funeral. 

A really large percentage of the membership of our synagogue are in the various helping professions (doctors, social workers and the like) or are Jewish professionals or academics. Larry came from a long line of butchers. He was a butcher and owned a grocery store. Larry was also an incredibly shrewd businessman. In a community filled with scholars, Larry's particular type of smarts really stood out.

Larry understood that food can tie a community together. So together with his wife Marilyn he worked on transforming our post services Kiddush from a couple of boxes of pound cake and a few chocolate chip cookies into a lunch. With real food after services people lingered and talked. Kiddush has become a time to really tie people into our community.

Kiddush has become the time when the soft part of Jewish  religious communal life takes place. It's the place when you  can talk to your friend who has been looking kind of lousy and find out what is going on. Kiddish is where a bunch of you can figure out how you and your friends can provide help to that friend who is looking awful--- and in a way that isn't humiliating.  Kiddush has served as my informal elder care support group, and bereavement support group and children with special needs support group. 

Matches are made, both in love and professionally. We do synagogue business. all of this is lubricated by the presence of food and some single malt whiskey. Larry and Marilyn have helped this informal support system work better.

Larry was beloved by a really wide section of that giant complicated  pie that is New York. About fifteen years ago Larry threw a giant party to celebrate a return back to health. There were people dancing together that night that it is had to even imagine existing in the same room.  When we drove back from the fabulous evening my friend Alan commented that he felt as if the messiah had come.

Usually before the formal part of  Jewish funeral begins one signs into the visitors book and then goes into the family room to extend condolences. This morning the family room door was shut and we could hear wailing  coming through the door.

The funeral began with Larry's granddaughters nearly hysterical with their deep grief. Larry's granddaughter Rachel stood up to sing Psalm 23. As she began, her throat was so filled with tears that he voice was nearly inaudible. She continued singing. Her voice was broken but began to gather strength.

It was so moving to hear her profound grief.  As she sang the beauty in her vice began to emerge. We joined in the singing for the last verse or two. It seemed an apt metaphor for the healing  process of mourning within a community.

When my mother died Larry and Marilyn cooked a brisket for me.  They delivered it to my house while they were on their way to a large fancy event. I don't recall of the details but there was drama involved in the delivery that involved members of Larry's extended family as well as a cousin of mine. It's a long and funny story but for me the best part was that the brisket tasted like love in the form of red meat.

So when a call went out to provide a main dish for tonight, I knew this was my mitzvah.

I shopped on my way home from the funeral. The cooking though was a bit chaotic. My son decided to comfort himself after his trip to the ER by roasting cloves of garlic in the oven last night. He had forgotten that he had spilled oil on the oven bottom. I preheated the oven and our kitchen filled with black smoke.  I prepared the fish while in the middle of a Keystone Kops series of misadventures in our kitchen. 

Larry's family would be returning from the cemetery and needed food no matter what was going on in out kitchen . The Keystone Kops continued around me and I just worked on that fish.

The fish went into the oven. The kitchen went back to being orderly.

I plattered the fish and brought it to Larry and Marilyn's apartment before the mourners returned.  Larry's family is well schooled in the language of love as expressed in a well cooked nicely presented dish.

So this is tilapia with rye-bread crumbs flavored with mustard, lime and cheddar cheese and studded with roasted peppers served on a bed of arugula.

I felt like I was channeling Larry as I assembled this meal.  Larry's children mentioned (with no prompting on my part) that Larry would have appreciated what this dish looked like (and tasted like). 

I assume that as I assemble meals many years in the future I will think about my friend Larry.