We are well into the throws of Passover eve around here, this strange in-between-y limbo stage where you can no longer eat the 8 million things you cannot eat on Passover (leavened things included of course) and where you can’t quite partake in matzah festivities just yet (the unleavened things must wait until tonight’s seder) so I am eating carrots. I can’t quite complain to you exactly since many a Jewish woman will prepare for this holiday for an month in advance by cooking and cleaning and then going back and cooking and cleaning some more.
I prepared by buying five containers of cream cheese, three bottles of ginger ale, $200 worth of Kosher For Passover, nut-free baked goods, and throwing my children into a car. Even whilst here, the only cooking and cleaning my mother required of me was to make the meatballs, and I passed the buck to a very willing Emily and allowed her to make them completely on her own, while I munched on some more carrots.
(What’s up, Doc?)
I mean, I guess a ten-hour drive isn’t high on my list of desirable activities, but my kids are mostly good for long car rides, especially when we give the younger two headphones and access to the movies, and occasionally throw goldfish crackers and water bottles in their general direction. Emily is a bit more needy these days, since now she plays The Music Veto game with us. We play the music from one person’s iProduct of choice. The other two passengers get FULL VETO power on any and all songs. So, with three people who listen to completely opposite types of music—one classic screamy rock, one bubble gum pop, and…moi—I didn’t get to listen to a single one of my songs on the entire trip — veto city sweetheart.
Wait, that’s a lie. Somehow I managed to sneak The Elephant Love Medley past them.
I mostly looked at the ridiculously gorgeous view—and all of the signs for taxidermy, life-size bear carvings, and ammo. Pennsylvania, the tip of Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia. These places are just beyond stunning.
We have many reasons to be thankful that my parents moved from Milwaukee to Lexington, Virginia, but one of them is now we no longer have 9.5 hours of the poopiest, plainest, flattest view of the United States.
The most exciting reason, probably, is the homemade ice cream store that guarantees its ice cream to be nut-free for me and last night I had an ice cream cone the size of a small child filled with the most wonderful ice cream I have ever laid lips upon and I still am grinning like a fool today, which is perfect timing since I now have to eat Passover food for the next 8 days.
My mother lives in this lovely old, old, old home with so much history and character. It’s exactly nothing like my house. I can’t sleep though, since I just know there are Civil War ghosts lingering around—probably in the doors that don’t open in the basement. No really, there are doors that do not open.
I mean, it’s possible the reason I can’t sleep is because of Joffrey Baratheon. Or Pete Campbell’s plaid “hippie” pants. But it’s probably the ghosts.
Since this is the view from my bed.