[as if in dreams] A newsletter from Joseph Zitt #020
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29 January, 2021
This is issue number twenty of the newsletter.
It’s been a relatively busy week. Good movement on the film project. A set of elements that I hadn’t thought would work I now think actually will. I made a good connection for a collaborator who will be the one person onscreen. I’m now trying to figure out scheduling, logistics, and budget. I’ve worked with an energetic producer in the past. I would love to find someone who knows the scene here.
So, once again, no reviews, just the posts.
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Onward (Falling of a log?)!
This Week’s Posts
Friday, January 22nd, 2021
Ten or more men are gathered around the weekly backgammon match in the city square. There are enough of them that they could burst into prayer if they wanted to. I doubt that they would. I’m out earlier than usual for my Friday shopping. I was too tired last night to start up a fresh pot of cold brew, so I don’t have coffee ready at home. I head out relatively soon after waking. The sun is straight ahead as I walk through the square. It shouldn’t be. I’m walking south. Everything ahead of me that I can see at all is in silhouette. I stop into the sandwich shop and get a large cappuccino. It’s hotter than I expect. Drinking it takes longer than I want. There’s a line outside the pharmacy, as usual. This time, they aren’t distinguishing between those there for prescriptions and general shoppers. A docile dog waits a few meters away, chained to a post. A toddler, still practicing how to walk, crashes into it. It yelps once then quietly sits back down. The line moves quickly. When I get inside, only one person is ahead of me in line. I get the one medication that I need and leave. Elsewhere on the street, I get my groceries, a challah, and another espresso, then head back home.
Saturday, January 23rd, 2021
This cholent is more ad-hoc than those I’ve made before. Usually, I use a recipe and measure things carefully. I’ve been told repeatedly that measuring cups are just for Americans. OK, then. This time, I dump into the crockpot one package of white barley, one package of bulgur, one can of white beans, one can of garbanzo beans, the thawed-out leftover gravy-like-stuff from the previous beef stew, a couple of teaspoons of baharat spice, and two kilograms of cubed-up flanken. The flanken says on the package “Asada Flanken #9.” So I guess that’s what carne asada is. I should look up the seasonings for it. I pour in water to cover, stir it all up, and leave the crockpot on Auto for about fifteen hours. The result is pretty good. It’s much more dense than usual. What I’d been making before was too thin, so this is better. It’s kind of like oatmeal (without the strong oatmeal flavor) with beans and chunks of meat in it. If it weren’t for the heavy meat, it might be good for breakfasts. I’ll have to remember that. There isn’t a lot of flavor. The taste of the meat kind of gets lost. I may spice it further when I reheat future meals. What’s left after lunch fills ten of my serving-sized freezer containers, the container that had held the gravy, and another larger container that I had gotten with some meat-based to-go food a long time ago. Some remnants of the cholent are still caked in the crockpot. I leave them to soak overnight. Late in the evening, I realize that I haven’t eaten any supper. I’m still full from lunch. I should eat something, though, so I don’t wake up hungry in the middle of the night. I won’t have to worry about what to make for Sabbath lunches for the next few months. By that time, it should be getting hot again. If I make anything in bulk then, it will be something more suited to the season.
Sunday, January 24th, 2021
The office kitchen is crowded. Three people are talking inside. They tell me that I look tired and wonder if I’m still staying up late to celebrate the inauguration. Some of them have taken to calling me President Joe. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the water boiler near the door and back out while talking to them. I’m telling them excitedly about some music I’m working on. I forget that at the far end of the entrance to the kitchen a pillar juts out from the adjoining wall. I crash into it. My coffee spills onto my belly and onto the floor. I go back into the kitchen, get paper towels, and kneel on the floor to wipe up the spill. When I have gotten up what the paper towels will hold, I try to stand. My left foot is on a wet spot. It slides out from under me. I flatten out on the floor. I get back up on my hands and knees, crawl to a pillar, and pull myself up to stand. I see that the belly of my shirt is soaked. It’s a dark army green. It should dry quickly. It won’t show much of a stain. My skin is slightly burnt, but not badly so. I head back into the kitchen, pick up my cup with what coffee remains in it, and return to my desk. It’s going to be a long day.
Monday, January 25th, 2021
Through eavesdropping and conversation, I pick up some new words. I had known that “to compile” is, in Hebrew, “l’kampeyl.” Today, I hear some programmers using the word “l’kanfeyg.” I figure out, from context, that that’s “to configure.” I mention it to my family. They add that “to replicate” is “l’rapleyk.” Apparently, all these terms use the same grammatical structure. They cut the root off at four letters. I don’t know offhand of Hebrew verbs that use more than that. Some may exist. A while back, I wondered online if “to put things in freezer bags” might be “l’zapleyk.” I haven’t actually heard anyone say that. Yet. The day is generally quiet, without thrills or further spills. I plow ahead on the manual I’m rewriting. I’m supposed to have it done by the end of the week, and I’m taking Wednesday off. I work later than usual, but get a ride home from a coworker. I planned to walk home, but my boss announces that the programmer, who is leaving at the same time, will “give me a tramp.” I know that he means he will give me a ride. Another word made the jump from English, or maybe German, long ago. I think of declining, but I accept. The boss has commanded it. His will is done.
Tuesday, January 26th, 2021
I only write checks once a year. That’s how rent is handled: the tenant writes a full year’s worth of checks in advance and hands them to the landlord. Luckily, I paid attention to where I put the checkbook last year. I know that the amount won’t change. When I first got the lease, it said that the landlady could raise the amount by a little bit each year. I knew of a lawyer who would look over leases for free for immigrants in their first year. He suggested that I ask that they raise it by less. I did. The landlady wrote on the lease that they won’t raise the rent at all. Um, OK. The lawyer kept a copy of the lease as a model. He said that it was one of the best he’d ever seen. As of mid-February, I will have been in this apartment for three years. It’s time for the next set of checks. My landlady reminds me in a text message. She also lets me know how much I owe on the electricity bill. That’s a little over a hundred dollars for two months. Not bad. One advantage of living in a basement apartment: it doesn’t tend to get too hot or too cold. I’ve put the heat on a half dozen times or so this winter, only for about half an hour each time. On the way home from work, I get money from the ATM to pay the bill. I give the landlady exact change as usual. I write out the checks. I have exactly twelve checks in my checkbook. I’ll have to get another one before this time next year.
Wednesday, January 27th, 2021
The vaccination tent is more crowded than it was last time. We’ve had heavy rain since my first shot. People now wait in line inside. They’ve shifted some walls for this. I have an appointment, but that doesn’t seem to matter. It looks like they’re vaccinating anyone who comes in. Some people get to jump the line. By law, people over eighty don’t have to wait. They seem to be escorting in anyone with a white beard. Maybe I shouldn’t have shaved mine a few years ago. I have my health plan ID ready when I get to the front of the line. They don’t look at it. They just ask for my government ID code. They hand me a number in the queue for shots, but tell me to ignore it and just go to where they’re doing the vaccinations. When I step through that doorway, they ask me which health plan I’m with. I tell them. Mine has priority. The worker turns to a woman in a white coat who is stepping out of a booth. “I know you’re about to go on break, but can you do one more?” Of course. She confirms my ID number and that this is the second vaccination. She’s tired. She tosses a cotton ball into a trash bin but misses it twice. I’m not worried. The target area on my arm is pretty large. The shot takes an instant. I’m surprised. Last time it took longer. She tapes another cotton ball to the spot. “That’s it. Go out and sit for ten minutes. Relax. Get some water.” A text message tells me that I can print out a temporary confirmation of my vaccination on the health plan website. The official “green passport” will come later. I sit down in the waiting area and check the news on my phone. A government official is saying that we may have to take booster shots each year. So be it. If it’s as simple as this and the flu shot, it will be worthwhile.
Thursday, January 28th, 2021
Plates of fruit cover one end of the conference table. One plate has cut up fresh fruit: apples, persimmons, clementines, kiwis, mangoes, bananas, and some I can’t identify. Another has dried fruit: pineapple, raisins, and cranberries. Most are local. I didn’t know that we grew bananas here, but Google tells me that we do. Today is one of the most minor holidays, Tu Bish’vat, the New Year for the Trees. There’s a tradition of a sort of seder for it, but much more casual than for Passover. People mostly just eat fruit and, if they remember, say the blessings for them. Decades ago, I wrote the liturgy for a Tu Bish’vat seder that my congregation in Austin used. I left space in it for people to interject their own thoughts or songs. They did. I was surprised when someone I didn’t know recited something from my first book, which had just come out. Here, we’re gathered more casually. We’re clustered more closely together than usual, so most of us are wearing masks while we wait. The boss brings wine, but we don’t have a corkscrew anywhere. He goes downstairs to the supermarket to buy one. He returns after a while with a small corkscrew, as well as two containers of cookies. He pours wine for each of us. I expect him to say a blessing, perhaps one tailored to the holiday, but he just says “L’chaim.” We drink. We eat. We talk. After a while, we get back to work.
Colophon
(Unchanged from last week, except for this line.)
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