They tried to kill us.
We won.
Let's eat.
I have so many childhood memories tied up in this time of year. My mother used to make me sit by her while she made Passover dinner for more than 40 people. She did this two nights in a row. She would explain the right way to prepare the food and how to set the table. It was truly a hands on approach. Although it made me crazy back then, I'm now very glad that she made me sit there and pay attention. During those times I gained a love of cooking that has stayed with me. Preparing the food for this holiday brings back memories of love and security and also a great amount of respect for the amount of work that she tackled with perfection.
I really don't know how she did it.
Everything was planned weeks in advance. Food was delivered and when I say food, I mean tons of it. For example, I went through 60 eggs for just one evening. I can't even imagine what she went through. I don't know how much those dinners must have cost but I know it was a bundle. The tables were set with china and beautiful stemware. She took pride in the details. Everyone loved to come to our house and they loved her cooking.
We did that every year along with every other holiday that was out there. We had the home where everyone would gather. When my parents passed away it just never seemed the same. The family kind of scattered and the dinners faded away. When I got married we started up again and all that love of preparation that I gained by osmosis came pouring out again.
And I wanted to give that all to my daughter.
We haven't had a Passover in over ten years and that one doesn't really count. The reason I say that is my niece wanted me to prepare the food for a Seder that her church was having. It was for over a hundred people. We peeled onions, garlic and apples. Enough to fill a wheelbarrow. By the time the week was over I was a real loony tune. It took me over ten years to want to repeat the experience. Now, our dinner was for only thirty and it shouldn't have been any big deal after cooking for one hundred but I didn't have Fibromyalgia then either.
Note to self: If you try to prepare a Passover dinner with Fibromyalgia prepare to be in for a doozy of a flare.
I spent two days cooking. Normally, that would be a piece of cake (and yes, I made those too) but by the time Friday morning hit the pain was out of control. I slugged down the pain medication and kept on. I loved watching my daughter through this process. She has the same love of preparation and cooking that her grandmother had and her execution is just fabulous.
Anyway, I managed to get through the dinner without crying but by the time I got home it was ugly. Real ugly. I've been in bed ever since. The pain went from out of control to excruciating and it has remained at that level. I can't seem to get it back under control. Every bone in my body is wracked with pain. Every time I move, I want to cry. I took a hot shower and the water hitting my back hurt. I tried to make some eggs but it hurt to move the spatula. I wanted a diet coke but it hurt to lift the glass. I don't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I just want the pain to go away.
Whine, bitch, moan and complain.
Pain brings out the real pleasant part of your personality.
But my daughter has taken the reins with the same fervor that her grandmother possessed.
The torch has been passed.
