Before You Bake . . .

Um, so you know how I highly recommended whole spelt flour? So, er, there's an addendum to that. 

Yesterday, I attempted to make cookies for Shaloch Manos, and I quadrupled my usual cookie cutter recipe. 

It was a nightmare. 

The dough never came together; it remained sandy and crumbly. I tried adding more oil, more liquid, and nothing doing. I attempted to cut them out, and it was horrific. They refused to stay together, falling apart, jagged edges. When I shoved them into the oven and eventually took a peek, I saw in shock that they were foaming. 

I googled "whole spelt cookie cutter" and the few recipes either called for copious butter (I'm currently remaining pareve) or they enthused, "These cookies are deliciously crumbly!" 

Oh. 

So I bolted to the nearest health food store and miraculously, they had the whole wheat pastry flour in stock (I've been having difficulty finding it since COVID hit). I redid the dough, and OMG, it was like silk. It rolled out into beautiful slabs. The cookies held their shape magnificently. I nearly wept.

The whole spelt flour, however, has been performing very well in cakes, and non-cookie cutter cookie recipes. I've even made stunning challah from it. 

So even though I initially recommended it for cookie cutter cookies, I take that back. My first attempts with it went ok but then I hadn't quadrupled the recipe. Those sort of details matter, apparently. Blurgle.

Plans B, C, D . . .

Han had an insight the other day. 

In the Megillah, Mordechai tells Esther that she must try to save her people. He says that if she does nothing, the salvation will come from another source, but she must still try.

If you look at the Megillah, Han said, you don't see a Plan B, but according to Mordechai, there were other ways we could have been saved. 

It was like when we were dating, he said. When you are in it, you don't see the Plans. You don't see where it will come from. But they are there. 

I concurred it was true. For all my efforts, my visiting shadchanim, I didn't expect my aunt's friend who I barely knew to be the one to set us up. I didn't expect her to be a fierce advocate on by behalf, staying on top of the shidduch until it came through.  

The Megillah took place in a time of galus, past the time of supernatural miracles. But it is no less miraculous because it took place through a string of "convenient" coincidences. This is how Hashem speaks to us now. 

Esther did not get the shidduch of her dreams. She was taken from all she knew, the home she loved. Her child was raised Persian. But she was the savior of her people, and her name is praised for eternity. 

We can spend so much time looking in one direction, expecting only one way of doing things, when Hashem may say, "No. I have other plans for you." They are there, humming away in the background, whether we see them or not. 

Shidduch Lit: "The Other Bennet Sister"

This past Shabbos, I began "The Other Bennet Sister" by Janice Hadlow, and while I am only fractionally in, I am already charmed. 

I have read a number of homages to Austen, and so far, Hadlow's is the most satisfying. She captures the language and sensibilities beautifully. The story initially runs parallel to "Pride & Prejudice," through Mary's eyes, intertwining, at times, Austen's dialogue with Hadlow's, and they seamlessly flow together.

Mary is "The Other Bennet Sister," and she is captured in a heart-breaking light. Sandwiched between four beautiful sisters, Mary, the only plain one, finds herself scorned by her mother and ignored by her father, who only cares for Elizabeth. She becomes serious and pious as an attempt to overcome this "shortcoming," feeling rather lonely. 

In terms of Shidduch Lit, her interactions with Charlotte Lucas definitely qualify. "[Mrs. Bennet did not] hesitate to dwell, with all the sympathy at her command, upon the disappointment [Lady Lucas] must feel at Charlotte's still remaining unmarried at the age of twenty-six, especially as there seemed so little chance of her changing her situation."

Charlotte and Mary have a number of interactions, and it is with Mary that Charlotte reveals her impatience and frustration. While Bingley leads her out for the first dance at the Meryton Assembly, he makes his preference to Jane clear by the dances following. 

"I know very well what I must say next," continued Charlotte. "I must smile and nod and look unconcerned at my dismissal, whilst laughing and teasing Jane about her new conquest. And that is what I will do. I'm used to it. but I tell you what it is, Mary—I'm not sure if I can do it for much longer. . . I am nearly twenty-seven years old. And not once has anyone looked at me with the admiration Mr. Bingley is now directing at Jane. Not once have I been the one around whom other women gather, congratulating, and exclaiming. No—it is always my lot to cheer the triumphs of my friends. . . Lord knows, I don't expect much. But I should like to have something of my own before it is too late. Some mark of affection, some sign I have been wanted and preferred." 

"You have parents who love you," ventured Mary, "and brothers and sisters to care for." 

"Yes," replied Charlotte, "and I know that should be enough, but with every day that goes past, I find that it isn't, quite." 

Charlotte later says: "When I was about your age, I imagined marriage was a reward for good behavior and patience. I thought if I was good and obliging and did as I was told, it was inevitable that I should end up as someone's wife. If it didn't happen this year, then surely it would in the next. But I waited and waited and smiled and smiled, and yet here I am—a single woman still." 

She then describes the sorry state of old maids, who have no means of support, and who are looked down upon and condescended to by society. She has decided to threaten herself by embracing spinsterhood the following year, and is now putting all her focus in securing a marriage partner. 

" . . . I'm prepared to do anything I can—within the bounds of propriety, of course—to find a respectable man to be my husband. If such a one were to cross my path tomorrow, I should not answer for his chances of escaping me." 

Charlotte, plain like Mary, sees in her a woman of similar situation, and feels she can be honest with her in a way she cannot be with Lizzie. Lizzie is young and beautiful, and can talk of love marriages. But Charlotte will not, cannot, wait for love. She wants a home of her own. She wants status. She wants to be married. 

She tells Mary: "Don't waste time as I have done waiting for something to happen. Fortune really does favor the brave, you know. Don't believe you can find happiness celebrating the good fortune of others. An eternity spent smiling and cooing over the good luck of your friends makes the heart sick in the end. And above all, don't long for what you cannot have, but learn to recognize what is possible, and when it presents itself, seize upon it with both hands. It seems to be the only route to happiness for those of us born with neither beauty, riches, nor charm."

OK, my hands are cramping with how much I've quoted, but these passages really spoke to me. For a long long time I had to go to vort after vort of "baby" cousins, smile and be gracious and wish Mazel Tov while I wondered what the heck I was doing already that rendered these kiddies married while I remained the unmarried freak. 

Anywho, like I said, I'm not that far in. I'll let you know if I liked the ending.

Gander vs. Goose

 A little something from Luke. Yeah, there's no difference except for the packaging.

The Goofy. The Quirky. The You.

I am still working my way through Miranda, and there was a few episode arc that I loved. 

Miranda has caught the eye of a reporter, Mike. He asks her out, and on it she invariably does a Miranda—something goofy that makes her get odd looks from people. Like if someone says something that happens to be a song lyric, she has to belt out the whole song. 

Once she's finished her ballad, she waves goodbye to Mike and leaves. Because of course he won't be interested in her now. 

But he is. He comes back to her store, starry-eyed, breathing, "So quirky." 

In the next episode, Miranda still attempts to tone down her Miranda-ness because of course he won't stay interested in her. She manages until she doesn't (in front of his father), at which point he sighs in relief. He was wondering where his quirky girl had gone. 

Yes, this is television, and a sitcom at that, but I assure you, dear audience, that life is very much like this. 

For those who have been in the dating trenches, how often were you told not to be "yourself"? (Raising both my hands.) Frankly, it's too much work to suppress the real me. Yes, a good number of guys bolted in horror, but Han says I have "simchas hachayim." 

Han can be his real self with me, and I can be my real me with him. And it's fun. Because it turns out, we can both be goofy. 

You Keep Using That Word

I put down the magazine, depressed. "Why do you keep reading these things?" Han asked in exasperation, after a relayed another story of misery that had been printed. 

Why? Because they always caption it as being a tale of "inspiration." I always assume (ass, u, me) that there will be a happy ending, when the difficulty is overcome. 

It usually ends in death or worse. 

"These magazines," Han said, "seem to be confusing 'tragedy' with 'inspiration.'" 

As someone who suffers from the genetic malady of "mitleid" (translation: "crippling empathy") I just can't take it anymore. Week after week, I am paying money for a glossy magazine full of dvar Torahs, recipes, and sagas of pain, pain, and more pain, couched as "inspiration." 

It's not inspiration! It's just SAD. So sad I'm in near tears every Shabbos morning. "Can you imagine? They lost not one, but two children; they have a child with an insurmountable disability; these brothers were still unmarried when both their parents died; her baby died in utero; she's just 18 and she was diagnosed with a death sentence." 

I'm not trying to be in denial here. I know bad things happen. Bad things have happened to my family, too. I have an overactive imagination enough, contemplating the million ways one can die or be maimed.

What about the good things? Good things happen too. Aren't those stories more inspiring than others involving a gravestone? 

For my sanity, I walked past the glossy display this week. I need some time off. 

I read a murder mystery instead.

The Why

Han was telling me of a sad occurrence. A matriarch made a Chanukah party because "We can't not have a Chanukah party!" The occasion became a super-spreader, and three people died. 

I have been battling this mindset myself since COVID waltzed in: Not doing things because they currently aren't feasible. Having guests or being a guest. Attending levayas. Hugging my nieces and nephews. 

Han had to physically hold his father back from going into a levaya, because how does one not go in?

"Pandemic-Proof Your Habits" by Kate Murphy begins with an interesting anecdote. She attended a Thanksgiving dinner that ended up being anti-establishment. No turkey. No mashed potatoes. No cranberry sauce. The salmon, roasted potatoes, and raspberry coulis was delicious. 

The attendees lost their minds. 

She explains that being met by the unexpected can really rattle us, due to brain wiring. Going against the habitual programming can throw us for a loop. Shavuos without cheesecake? No. Just no.

It made me realize why so many couldn't cope with the cancellation of minyan. We guys have so many rituals based around religion, and we were told that it is all right to do without for now, but there were those who refused to accept it. 

COVID has made me reexamine my beliefs in some ways. I miss the Chanukah parties, the Shabbosim with family, the shul outings. But the basis of all those practices is belief. Without belief, they are meaningless. 

So until we all get vaccinated, I shall focus on believing.

Shidduch Myths: "All the Good Ones are Taken"

Sarah Eckel's book devotes each chapter to a "reason" why someone is single (too available, etc.) and destroys the faulty logic behind it. While some I have addressed in the past, others occurred to me while reading it that I thought would be fun to tackle. 

"All the good ones are taken." 

Whilst in my single days, I attended an afruf one Shabbos (the outing was memorable as we had to trek to another shul while dragging along a toddler nephew since we were babysitting) and I saw there a recently married neighbor along with her husband. 

His appearance was not only rather handsome, he exuded an aura of what I interpreted to be a pleasant personality. While wishing this acquaintance Gut Shabbos, I whispered to Ma (sotto voce, in retrospect), "She got such a cute one!" 

At the time, while happy for my contemporary's "success" in "snagging" a "cute guy," there was also the accompanying understanding that my options had dwindled further. There is a limit, after all, to good-looking, personable gentlemen. So, despite my Hungarian heritage (being appreciative of a chiseled jaw), I did not demand that feature in a future spouse. I "had to" focus strictly on qualities like kindness, intelligence, and tolerance for my sneaker collection. 

After meeting Han, however, I was surprised that he was "still available"; how could it be that some savvy huntress hadn't downed him with a tranquilizer dart and dragged him back to her lair? How was it possible that this package of fabulosity hadn't been "snatched up"?

Because, if people were like limited edition Adidas with gold laces, then yes, we could apply the premise of supply and demand. But people aren't commodities. They are complex individuals with inner worlds who interact with others in different ways. 

Additionally, there is the incorrect belief that if someone is married, then they must be "good." Well, no. A lot of jerks and mean girls are married. It's not like every young couple you meet has a shared glowing halo of goodness. 

What does "good" mean, anyway? For some, it's simply impeccable appearance; an appealing combination of facial features paired with a low enough MBI swathed in a rockin' wardrobe (that goes for men and women). For some, it's someone who visits his grandmother every Sunday then volunteers at the soup kitchen. For some, it's an admirable career choice (hello, Jewish doctor!) 

For others, "good" simply means "good for them." 

So while a number of men (ok, many, many men) ran screaming for the hills after they met me (why? Gosh, the list goes on: too tall, knows too much, too fond of lipstick, etc.), Han and I are good for each other.

To quote Amy March, "You don't need scores of suitors. You need only one, if he's the right one."