‘A Memory of Passover and Lace in California’
Many years ago, when my parents were alive, Peter and I used to visit them often. My mother was an invalid then and that made them semi housebound. Papa did not drive. It fell upon Kelly, who at the time lived there, or Gilda to drive them where they needed to go. I went to Los Angeles once a month. Peter was able to come with me during holidays. This time it was Passover. It was planned that I would cook for family and friends for the holiday meals. I would planned the menu and made a shopping list. Bless him, Kelly shopped for everything so that the day after I arrived, first thing in the morning, I would start preparing. Peter and Kelly would take my parents out for the day. They loved walking by the beach. Mama would be in her wheelchair and Papa would walk beside her.
In the meantime, Twyla and l were busy prepping and cooking up a storm. Everyone would be there for Passover. My sister Gilda and her family would come. My brother Jacky and Patricia would be there as well as Yvonne and the boys. An old friend of the family, Victor would be there. There was laughter and happy greetings everywhere. It seemed like olden days when their home was always filled with people and laughter.
We all sat around the Seder table and read the story of the First Passover. My parents were surrounded by loving friends and family. We had our cherished parents with us. I have carefully folded those memories in a section of my heart. Every once in a while, I unfold them tenderly and remember them, as I am doing right now, and relive them with love.
A few days after that Passover night, Peter and I decided to take a little day excursion for ourselves. We drove to Santa Barbara. To me Santa Barbara is a beautiful bright jewel. It is very by the water. It shines and glistens scintillatingly. We parked the car and walked about arm in arm. As we ambled along, we meandered into a shopping arcade that attracted us. One of them displayed the most gorgeous hand loomed laces.
The man behind the counter was an old distinguished gentleman. He had a full head of shining silver grey hair. His face was intelligent and his eyes were lively. He took out the pieces I pointed to. I touched them lovingly. “These have to be carefully hand washed, you know. They cannot be machine washed,” he warned me before I could say anything. I valued them for what they were. He now warmed up to Peter and to me as well. We began speaking as if we were long lost friends.
After a delightful conversation, he mentioned his daughter-in-law’s lack of appreciation for his laces, a mistake she made by washing one improperly. Despite initial payment challenges, he extended his trust to us, showing his keen judgment of character. Later, upon our return, we discovered his shop was closed, leaving cherished memories and a sense of admiration for his character.
Over twenty years have passed since then. My parents and Peter are gone. I am sure he is as well. Yet, I still have memories of those times and that keeps those times vivid and alive.