Austen's Answer to Magic

I'm rather embarrassed that I've been sitting on this recommendation for, oh, years. Never got around to to it. 

I'm not a serious fantasy reader. Even though I do like sci-fi, I'm not keen on the book forms, usually, excepting a few rare writers (Lois McMaster Bujold. That's about it).

I read Harry Potter, of course. I'm a slave to Game of Thrones (paper, not screen version. George R.R. better give me the last two books, although at this rate I forgot who everyone is and I'll have to reread them). 

Years ago I picked up Jonathon Strange and Mr Norrell in Costco. It's a huge tome. Susanna Clarke created an alternate reality in Regency England, as well extremely detailed "historical" footnotes. It took her twelve years to write. You can tell. 

BBC adapted it a few years ago, and I think it was excellently done. Although, of course, the book is better. Isn't it always? 

TGIF

• Do you procrastibake? (I don't. I've got Netflix); 

• The Only Houseplants You Can Be Trusted With (spoiler: not many)

• Reasons I May Be Eating Right Now (a.k.a I need a reason?)

The Vicarious Life

Am I citing The Crown too much? I probably am. Can't stop now, though. 

In "Paterfamilias," young Prince Charles is being sent to school. Elizabeth would like to send him to Eton, but Philip is adamant that he be sent to his alma mater in Scotland, Gordonstoun. 

Philip's mission is that Charles "toughens up." 

We then flashback to Philip's time there (and his family's connections to the Nazis, cough). He did not arrive happy either. It's freezing. The showers are freezing. There's a lot of physical labor. 

But after a family tragedy hits, the school provides a framework for him to survive. 

However, Charles is not his father. He did not find his time up north a fulfilling experience—more like hell—and sent his sons to Eton. 

Parents can have difficulty separating themselves from their children. They had a good time in camp; their children should go to camp. They liked sports; their children should like sports. They are content with their life as they know it; their children should too. 

But while children may be of their parents, they are not only their parents. They are also their grandparents, their great-grandparents, their great-great-grandparents, and so forth. Chances are there are a lot of different potential personalities bubbling in that cauldron of DNA. 

Dr. Chris Kaposey's "We Chose Our Child" describes his and his wife's decision to keep their Down Syndrome baby and not abort, despite their both being pro-choice.  

Why is there such reluctance to have children with Down syndrome? One explanation shows up repeatedly when parents recount the early days after receiving their child’s diagnosis. They feel a sense of loss because they no longer dream that their child will get married, go to college or start a family of their own one day — in other words, that they will not meet the conventional expectations for the perfect middle-class life.

However: 

Why do we have children at all? Most parents would agree that it is not only so that they can replicate a conventional arc of a successful middle-class life: college, marriage, real estate, grandchildren. If those are the reasons to abort fetuses with Down syndrome, they seem disappointing — they are either self-centered or empty in their narrow-minded conventionality. Aaron will probably not become a veterinarian, and that’s O.K. Childhood dreams often harmlessly go unrealized. He could still get a different job working with animals, and that would make him happy.

Children, in general, often choose to live different lives than their parents would wish. With a Down Syndrome baby, that's obvious from the get-go. With other kids, it may take a parent a few more decades to realize that. 

Like I heard from Dr. Shefali Tsabary, children are not extensions of ourselves, to lead the lives we wish for them. Then every Jewish boy would go to medical school. Children must be simply accepted and loved, as they are. 

Advantages vs. Challenges

The human mind is an ungrateful one. It tends to focus on when things go wrong, as opposed to when they go right. 

How often do we thank the Eibishter? We tend to ask for assistance or complain more often. 

Today's society likes to say that everything is terrible. But the experts point out, in exasperation, that compared to, say, all of history, we are doing quite, quite well. 

Sendhil Mullainathan notes this quirk of psychology in terms of economic advantages. When successful businesspeople are asked how they made their achievements, chances are they will elaborate on the many challenges they had to overcome, as opposed to all the resources they were gifted, whether by birth or other circumstances. 

We tend to remember the obstacles we have overcome more vividly than the advantages we have been given. . . both Democrats and Republicans believe that electoral maps are not apportioned to their advantage. The scholars also find that, within families, people tend to think their parents were tougher on them than their siblings recognize.

Those sneaky, crafty voices can create a completely different narrative in one's mind. But it really all depends how we choose to see our world. Happy people aren't happy because they have better lives than others. They are happy because they want to be. 

P'ru U'r'vu

"Get married to someone who isn't tall," she said before I even had a chance to say that I wasn't in the market for height. "Then you'll at least have kids. Before you know it, you'll be 30." 

I was 23 at the time. I have to say, I am very, very happy I rolled my eyes at her "advice."

Women worry a lot about their "biological clock," especially single women. If "declining fertility" wasn't terrifying enough, then there are those gloomy "predictions" regarding birth defects. 

Luke recently discovered Adam Ruins Everything, and I must say he is refreshingly soothing. (Check out his video on expiration dates and low-fat foods.) 

Come to think of it, regarding people I know, the myths don't apply. Babi had a miscarriage during her first marriage, pre-war; post-Holocaust, she married again at 32, and swiftly proceeded to have children, including twins at the age of 38 (that was without medical intervention. Don't think they had that in her Hungarian town). 

Fertility issues and birth defects aren't a guarantee of age, at least not to what I've heard in real life. 

So, single ladies and "elderly" newlyweds? Leave it up to God. From what I hear, He doesn't outsource this job to anyone else.

Fave Recipes III

• Sticky Maple Bourbon Chicken by Patrick Decker

I asked Han early on what sort of chicken he likes, and he said maple bourbon, although he's not crazy about maple syrup in the first place. What he did not realize is that honey is a perfectly acceptable swap in most recipes. 

I have to say that it tastes better with chicken legs, but it needs much longer simmering, 90 minutes, say. 

My nephew referred to it as "sick." He meant that in a good way. 

• Mushroom Kugel from A Taste of Pesach

I first tasted this by a Shabbos meal that was not during Pesach.

 

After I hounded my hostess for the recipe, I tweaked it: 4 eggs instead of 3, then omitting the mayo; oat bran instead of potato starch; no onion soup mix; 3 garlic cloves along with a dusting of powder. Quite yummy, indeed.

• Peanut Butter Oat Cookies by Naomi Hazan (onelifetoeat)

I have family members who are gluten-free, and currently so am I. I don't like recipes made from gluten-free flour blends, as the starches are so simple they are akin to sugar. Luckily, God provided a gluten-free grain: Oats are wonderfully filling and nutritious. 

These cookies can be made with almond butter instead of peanut (I'm not a peanut fan) and I used palm shortening instead of coconut oil (I'm not a coconut fan either). Eewok gave them a thumbs up, as did Han. 

It doesn't clarify this on the recipe, but they won't flatten out of their own accord. If you shape them into balls, they stay balls. I bought a cookie scoop a few months ago, and it is a great toy to have (as is this size for muffins). 

The Real Story

I have a confession (of sorts) to make. 

The fact is, the saga of Han and Lea was not a straightforward, simple one. My audience may recall a couple of years ago a number of posts regarding a breakup. 

Well, that breakup was with Han. 

Why do I feel compelled to share this? I felt like I was propagating a false fairy tale: Damsel is in distress (her mother's dying) and white knight rescues her! 

As we know, life is more complicated than that.

I had a year of post-breakup heartache. A year of self-recrimination ("Was it something I said? Something I did?") and wondering ("Why would the Eibishter taunt me like this? What am I supposed to be learning from this?") 

Then Ma got sick. All those thoughts vanished. Terror over her illness took precedence. 

It was at that time—that time—when I was overwhelmed enough already that Han called back, not knowing of the situation. The camel's back broke. I was stressed to my limit; I didn't welcome this further "complication." 

I spent a few days internally raging and staring blankly out the kitchen window as my thoughts and emotions washing-machined. 

I had every intention of re-exploring the relationship—Brené taught me there is no winning when one erects a shield of defiance—but how to go forward?

I had no energy for games. I had no mind for payback. My world was imploding. I decided to be open, honest, and vulnerable once more. 

I can't question God—His timing, His methods, His sense of humor. I could hypothesize upon His logic, but as a lowly cretin, that would be the height of chutzpah. Yet Han's presence saved not only me, but my family too, in that dark era. 

Thanks to onlysimchas and Facebook, people's lives—in this case, their romances—can seem so easy, so ideal, so effortless. But we don't know what goes on in others' lives. We are completely ignorant of the whole picture. We only see the picture they choose to post: boy goopily smiling at radiant girl as she clutches a bouquet of red roses. But there is usually much more than that. 

There are dating disappointments. There are broken engagements. There are other situations that cast their pall. But we don't know. 

Our story is messy, as all true stories usually are. Nor is it finished. Nor is it the only messy, unfinished story.  

Banana Oat Cookies

Of the fruits, bananas are my nemesis. 

There is a small window when a banana is perfect. It is not wholly yellow—it is brushed with a delicate hue of green. It's sweetness is just beginning to shine through, prior to the mushy blah of over-ripeness. And it cannot bear any brown on the peel. At all. 

I can never get the banana supply right. Either I buy too many—and watch in despair as they fade into brown-spotted neglect—or to spare myself the heartbreak, decree a temporary ban on bananas. When I succumb to purchasing them again, inevitably there is the hideous banana: too soft, too sweet, too brown.

But it's not its fault! Why should it be cast into the garbage when still edible? I cannot bear it!

While I will only consume bananas in their original state, Han is more adventurous of palate. So I searched and alighted upon this ideal recipe from Ambitious Kitchen.   

I added craisins and vanilla extract to mine. Han ate them happily. 

Another banana, saved!

The Invisibility Cloak

"Is your engagement on OnlySimchas?" she had asked at my l'chaim. 

"No," I responded, "and I don't want it on there." 

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "You don't want your engagement on the jumbotron in Times Square?" 

"Nope." 

I've never been comfortable in the spotlight. Not even amongst my family. It may go back to a childhood Pesach seder, when I butchered the Yiddish Ma Nishtana and had the whole table, including my Babi, rolling. 

Han, bless his heart, actually listened to me when I said, "I don't do scenes," and gave me the simple, perfect, understated proposal I could have wanted (much to others' disappointment). 

While this may be chalked up to unavoidable genetics, I actually have biblical proof. In Melachim 2 Perek 4, we learn of the story of Elisha and who the meforshim say is the widow of Ovadiah. Her husband had died with debts, and creditors were threatening to take her sons in lieu of payment. 

Elisha asks her what she has in the house, and she says only a small jar of oil. He instructs her to borrow as many empty containers as she can. When she has done so, he says: "Close the door." Then, the miracle occurs, with no witnesses but herself, as the small jar filled the multitude of vessels, enough to sell, repay the debts, and keep her children. 

I was once at a shiur when the speaker repeated, "Close the door." Bracha doesn't feel a need for a large studio audience. It has nothing to prove. It's nurtured in quiet, hidden places. 

This is what I thought of when I read, "Are You Really in Love if It's Not on Instagram?" by Krista Burton. 

If you have to keep reminding everyone of how happy you are, something’s not right. Happy people don’t need to announce over and over how happy they are. Happy people just … are. Your friends? They know when you’re in a healthy and loving relationship just by seeing you and knowing you. You don’t need to declare it every time you go online. These constant #relationshipgoals posts doth protest too much.

I have to second that opinion. Why must you announce how happy you are? Who are you trying to convince? Yourself? 

And if you are genuinely happy, then is it the most tactful thing to telegraph your joy to those who aren't? Who may, in turn, become envious? Who will wonder why you are in a blissful relationship while they aren't? 

Because I was on the other side for a long, long time. Every engagement I heard of had two reactions: a small amount of happiness for the couple, and a larger wallop of "Why not me? What am I doing wrong? Am I picky like the harpies say?" 

Everyone gets hysterical about ayin hara. What is it, exactly? The idea is that when one is too much in other people's mouths, it may draw a critical eye upon one. I even heard from Rabbi Glatstein (quoting a source that I cannot recall) that that is why a chosson and kallah go to the cemetery prior to their wedding. 

Solution? Don't put yourself in the mouths in the first place.  

The Whole, Not Merely the Parts

"I don't want to settle," she said, 19 and already frustrated with dating. 

"You shouldn't settle," I agreed. Her mother, anxious that I was giving her daughter detrimental advice, opened her mouth to object. 

I held up my hand. "There is a difference between 'Ugh, I can't stand this and this about him, but I'm tired of dating so I'll just settle' and 'Yes, there is this and this about him, but I don't caaaaaare, because he's great!'" 

The mother nodded. 

The above conversation reminded me of an article I linked eons ago.

 On an episode of Jane the Virgin, "Chapter 74" (SPOILERS) Jane and Rafael are re-exploring the possibility of a relationship. Their first "date," however, goes awry when Jane tries to bring up his reluctance to talk about his adoption, and he emotionally withdraws into a dark funk, asking her not to look at him with her "judgy" face. 

Jane realizes that she is judgy. That's who she is. And Rafael gets dark and withdrawn; that's who he is. When you love someone, you love all of them. Therefore, she proposes, on their next date, he can get as dark as he wants, and she can get as judgy as she wants. 

It is said that "opposites attract." But people aren't exactly identical, nor are they perfectly opposite. On the surface, Han and I have a ridiculous amount of things in common. Yet there are plenty of things in which we are opposites.  

When I think of an opposite couple, I think of my grandparents. Zeidy woke up with the rooster; Babi loved her bed. Zeidy was a prude; Babi had a salty tongue. Zeidy was deliberate and precise; Babi was quick and messy. For both, it was a second marriage, as both their spouses (and in Zeidy's case, a daughter) were killed. Yet for all these obvious differences, what I remember when I visited them as a child (Zeidy died when I was 9) was laughter. They had other similarities—both were from the same hometown, both were fiercely devoted to God, and both had a sense of humor. 

One day, when you meet the right one, you won't be in denial about his faults, and he won't think you're free of blemish either. As Voltaire said, "The perfect is the enemy of the good." But you'll be perfect for each other.