Kosher

And so, Passover came and went and I made it through staying kosher...almost the entire time. I broke on Saturday, a day away from its ending. It was Saturday morning and Megan, Hunter, Jeff and I were going to the new Sea World water park, Aquatica. I had nothing kosher left in the house except for one lonely egg. The three of them were going out for Chick-fil-A breakfast and I broke down, agreeing to go with them. I needed proper nourishment before spending an entire day at a water park. So close.

I did learn the lesson of the season, though. Yes, the Jewish people went through a lot. Yes, they suffered, but they made it through. I have a new found appreciation for all carbs, especially pasta. That week was by far the most hungry I've ever been.

Incidentally, the water park was loads of fun. I'm suffering from a minor sun burn (despite my SPF 40 preparations), but otherwise I left with a smile on my face.

Last Wednesday, I visited my grandparents in their new retirement home. It's comparable to a mini-resort, swimming pool and all. Their new apartment is nicer than most of my previous college housings. I learned, thankfully, that my grandparents are relatively happy there. With excitement and sighs, my grandmother told me about all the knitting and mahjong groups she joined. Rather than just walking around her small house, she now has an entire complex to walk around. She mingles, she's made friends. It's absolutely wonderful for her and she's absolutely thrilled.

My grandfather is another case. Think of my grandfather as a Jewish Frank Costanza.

Me: "Chaya, are you liking it here?"
Chaya: "Ehh, it's alright."
Me: "Why just alright? What's going on?" I asked, genuinely concerned, but also knowing that he was more than likely being ridiculous.
Chaya: "They don't like me here!" He said, aggressively, living up to his nickname. (Chaya roughly translates to "animal" in Yiddish.)
Me: "And why don't they like you here?" I asked, skeptically.
Grandma: "Because he doesn't wear any pants!"

I learned that day that apparently my grandfather frequently walks down the hall to the laundry room in just his underwear. I've constructed a sign to put on their door, simply questioning in large bold letters "Are you wearing pants?" He's to read it and answer it before leaving the apartment every day.

Needless to say, my grandmother was very proud of my attempt to be kosher. My grandfather shrugged while asking for more bread rolls. I was pretty sure that under the long robe he wore there were no pants to be found.