Faith & Food

I've fallen in love with Gaby's, the Lebanese restaurant. We spent last night at the beach, in front of the tv, pretending to be interested in the Lakers game which my father-in-law was glued to for the duration of his early birthday dinner. Gaby's was my saving grace. Great mounds of warm floury pita, velvet babaganoush and hummus, grilled lemony chicken and lamb scented with cinnamon, tabbouleh and the most divine fluffy stuff that may well have been steamed and pureed garlic... Sandy, my stepmother-in-law and very favorite relative, has risen to saint-like status in our minds. She has nursed him through his debilitating back surgery, the ICU, the physiotherapy, and she is completely brilliant at ordering enough food for a small battalion of light infantry. Silver foil tray after silver foil tray, sheet-cake size, was un-wrapped in the kitchen, and a mound of big white plates appeared; bottles of pinot noir, bowls of strawberries and packets of jelly beans covered the dining room table. It was lovely.

My brother- and sister-in-law are off to Amsterdam and Israel on Tuesday, taking both girls and their parents for a three-week trip which covers Tel Aviv, Gethsemane & the Dead Sea. Heaven, right? Big M thinks he can have an instant conversion to Judaism so that he can say a prayer at his daughter's Bat Mitzvah next year. I pointed out that the Gaza Strip isn't exactly Vegas, much as we'd like to think it is. "Don't you need to take Hebrew lessons?" I asked. "Nah, I'll use the phonetic version" he replied with a smile. Both my children wanted to convert to the Jewish faith in their thirteenth year, mostly for the gawdy glittering joy of a Bar Mitzvah, the party which never ends. Minks is on that kick now. I'm reminded that N, my little grumpy friend, was on that same kick five years ago. This is what happens when you bring up children with a very hazy notion of faith.

I was amused that J told a story at a dinner on Saturday night about his mother's terrific tantrums before church every Sunday morning. Exasperated with the state of her son's bedrooms, she'd take a strong sweeping arm, and throw everything on the floor and order them to pick it up. Then she'd go to church, pray for forgiveness, and come home with a beatific smile, feeling good about it all. And people are surprised that he's now an atheist?

Breathing & Gratitude. That's my mantra for the week. I'll keep you posted.