Cranky Complaints-Lady Buys BOOKS! (or tries to)

Do it to Julia

Just realized that every plant in the house is going to need a heck of a good watering before Yom Tov… or they will die, or at least, seriously wilt. 

Seedlings don’t have a lot of wiggle room in terms of how much drying-out they can take.  When your roots and stem are no thicker than a hair, once that hair’s-width pipeline dries out, that’s it.  And yes, a lot of it is “self-watering” but that, as I’ve pointed out before, is a serious misnomer. 

If you don’t put water IN in the first place, the plants – far from self-watering, which would involve running to the tap with a little cup or watering can – can actually droop and die almost as fast as plants that are in regular pots and peat pucks.  There is a little more wiggle; the mats under my “self-watering” (aka sub-irrigated) seedlings do hold a bit of water, even when they feel almost dry, and the roots can get that water out, with a bit of a struggle.

But why make them work?  Why not just water them before Yom Tov starts?

Well, maybe because we opened up the big box of fleishik stuff only to discover… a wooden spoon must have been put away damp last year, becuase it was covered in greenish-blue fuzz, and everything around it – aka every pot, pan and utensil in that HUGE fleishik box – was coated, if not as deeply as the spoon (which you’ll be relieved – especially if you’re eating here this week – to know that I threw away), with a delicate frosting of mould.

That wasn’t the only box that had mould in it, but that was definitely the biggest one.  Others have a sprinkling here and there; you can smell it the second you open the box.  Oh, and funniest of all (ha ha ha), my fleishik trivet, which is a cute rubbery Rubbermaid one, was nibbled.  Chewed around the edges.  There were no mouse droppings in the box, which was a relief, but something definitely got at it.  So, again, another good scrubbing.  (no, I’m not throwing away a perfectly good trivet!)

So, anyway.  Instead of just TAKING everything from the boxes and PUTTING it in the cupboards… I am having to wash every single item as it comes out of the boxes.  And all the cutlery.  Sigh.  This must be the year of gam zu l’tovah.  The year of a thousand kapparos, little anxieties in this life to clear up little heavenly (dare I say?) karmic debts.

Between that and the cooking, which is nowhere near done yet, the plants are the last thing on my mind.

This is what I think of as the “do it to Julia” stage of Yom Tov preparation:  I’m willing to kill the very things I love the most… just to get it all done.

And hey, now it’s two three hours later


Yom Tov just went out.

Never mind… all is good with the world.  A gutn Moid, world!