Lemonade Jello & Club Penguin

Thoughts of my grandma's lemonade jello just began simmering on my tongue.  My love affair with her lemonade jello began long  before I knew what was in jello and before I started keeping kosher.  This was not your ordinary lemonade jello.  It was creamy and lemony, of course.  The consistency was not anything like jello and you could slurp it into your mouth as though you were drinking a thick milkshake from a straw and let it melt, spreading itself across your entire tongue, sinking into each and every taste bud.

When my grandmother passed away, I wanted her dining room table.  Did I need it? No. Did I have room for it?  No.  But, I wanted it. Because the memories - no matter how distant and undetailed they are in my mind - are of sentimental, happy, family moments.  And, I don't want to let that go or fade away.

Sometimes, it hits me from out of the blue.  My grandmother is no longer with us.  I reach for the phone or look in the mailbox when a holiday or birthday is drawing near.  And there is just emptiness. 

With my grandfather "getting old" now (he is 99, after all), I think of all the conversations I would like to have with my grandmother - of blessed memory -  (paternal side) and my grandfather (maternal side), the last relatives I have from that generation. I want to speak with their 60-year old selves, their 40-year old selves, and their young selves - to hear about life, what was important to them, and what kept them going.

My grandfather's age gnaws at me in the sense that I only get quick doses of him - on the phone or even in person. Up 'til now, in person meant a quick trip to his apartment... Quick because he is a pack rat and there is not much space to sit... or stand, for that matter... He keeps it hot despite the fact the he wears sweaters and scarfs all year round.... He has stacks and stacks of papers all over the place because he is a busy man with a lot to do and a book to write... because his life should be recorded.

Or a meal at a restaurant... which is not really a quick trip because he takes soooo long to eat - longer than my third born son who is also a slow eater and carefully puts his food into his mouth and takes 45 minutes to eat a bagel (David timed him).  His teeth frequently fall out when dining out (according to the rest of my family) and being the I-can't-watch-other-people-brush-their-teeth kind of phobic, it makes for a meal filled with anxiety and anticipation.  I apologize if I choose the seat farthest away from you, Pops. And, if you are offended, I could not help Grandma Fritzi with her dentures during the last days that I saw her either.

As I came to record these words that were fluttering in my mind, the littles (Isaac and Ellie) were both playing on Club Penguin.  They play on my mom's account (yes, BunnyP), and they were so proud of the igloo they had just redecorated.

I can relate, I thought. As soon as I came home from living in a one-bedroom (ok - two, if you count the office where all four of our children sleep when we are there... and yes, it is a more than adequate space!), I started clearing out all the stuff from our house.  For several reasons:  first and probably foremost, I'm trying to make more space for Ilan and Aaron who recently started sharing a room and who haven't yet been able to put all their stuff into their room. So, I'm trying to clear some additional closets for them.  Second and most importantly (that is better than foremost), I realized I do not need all this stuff we have in the house.  I do not want any clutter, and I am doing away with it.  Little by little.

Just like my mom. Who is clearing out the 'stuff' from her house because she doesn't want her children to have to deal with it when "she is gone". So - we're all doing a lot of clearing and cleaning and cleansing.

But, I have these things - these things I inherited from my grandmother.  And, they take up space.  Space I am dedicated to giving to them.  Like the mezuzot on my doorposts, each time I see my grandmother's things - I am reminded of her and what she means to me.  I have some things that my grandfather brought back to her from his business trips throughout the years.  I have her dish that she served me cottage pancakes on when I was young and when I was old.  I have her serving pieces that I paid little attention to as I grew up in front of her but that mean so much to me now.

As we adorn our igloos and our (AZ) homes, I think it is important to keep those things that bring back the flavor of lemonade jello.... even though they take up space.