3 min read
ByClaire Calman, claire calman
Weren’t we advised early on in this fun-filled lockdown jamboree that we should wash our groceries? After all, how many people have picked up that tub of hummus before you?
June 25, 2020 10:18My good friend Ruth calls me for one of our occasional long phone chats. This is now known as an “audio-only” call, to differentiate it from the Zoom and FaceTime calls other people are allegedly making all the time. I feel left out.
That’s the trouble with being self-employed; my total employee head count is: one. There is a shortage of people with whom to have vital Zoom meetings.
Ruth, by contrast, has Zoom sessions with her clients all day long and is thoroughly drained by the experience, so she is emphatic she doesn’t want to see my face. I try not to take this personally.
I ask after her parents and she tells me that, each week, she does their shopping for them, washes it, drives to their Oxford home (from north London), sits in the garden with them for a visit, then drives back.
Whoa! Retrace your steps there. You’re washing the shopping? Yes, she confirms, and she washes her own shopping too.
My first reaction is: hurrah, she’s more neurotic than I am! My second thought is: actually, weren’t we advised early on in this fun-filled lockdown jamboree that we should wash our groceries? After all, how many people have picked up that tub of hummus before you? How many checked the date (well, the women only, obviously, because the Y chromosome makes it impossible for men to check best-before dates), then put it back after reaching for the one behind it with a longer shelf life? Although you know you will actually eat it tomorrow because now all your meals are planned with an unprecedented degree of forethought.
At the beginning of the week, or even the weekend before, I map out each night’s supper based on a) what we have in the freezer/fridge/cupboards, b) what Fussy Senior and Fussy Junior will eat: no treif (both), no lamb (FS), no creamy sauces (FJ), no courgettes (FJ), no aubergines (FS), no sweet potato unless mashed (FJ) and c) what I can be bothered to cook.
I love cooking –— or, rather, I did when I was just preparing one meal a day, with the son having lunch at school and the husband at work functions three evenings a week. Now, it’s seven proper suppers and apparently it’s in my job description to produce lunch, too. I demand to be furloughed.
In fact, as my friend Ruth’s parents are elderly, it’s probably wise, as well as kind, that she washes their shopping. So why have I been failing to carry out this simple domestic task? Is it because I’m less kind? Yes. More lazy? Yes. Forgetful? Yes.
Or is it because, out of the three of us in my family, there’s no argument over who is “the neurotic one” and I don’t want to give the chaps yet more ammunition to label me that way? When it comes to “argumentative” or “stubborn”, I could put the case for my limping in as a poor third, but with “neurotic”, there’s no contest. A Jewish mother is always going to take the trophy.
Lockdown is a bit like religion: there are an awful lot of rules, but we don’t all interpret them the same way. How strict is too strict? Whatever level you practise, obviously that is the “right” level. With the virus, other people are too lax: meeting in groups! Failing to stick to two metres! Or they’re ridiculously uptight: washing their shopping! Wearing a mask while driving alone!
Similarly, with religious observance, other people are either “too strict” or “not doing it properly”. Once a (United) friend and I were talking and she suddenly exclaimed: “Oh my god, I’ve just realised, we’re your frum friends!” By her standards, they were less observant than most people she knew (husband went to football on Shabbat if an important game; she wore a bikini on holiday etc). But by our standards... Two dishwashers. All those milk/meat labels everywhere. Having to wear a kippah for school drop-off...
Many Jewish families keep their home to a higher standard of kashrut than they themselves follow. It’s because we all have relatives who are more observant than we are and the house has to be at their level. Even if they come over only once a year, we want them to know that, for the other 364 days, we hold the house in perpetual readiness. That way, they can drink a cup of tea and eat a smoked salmon bagel, secure in the knowledge our cups have never been smeared with pig fat (or at least only the handles, which barely counts). Even if that is actually mad. Even if we don’t like them all that much. You want logic? Pick another religion.
Claire Calman’s latest novel, Growing Up for Beginners, is out now, available from Amazon, Hive and other outlets. Pre-register for a free ticket to Claire’s live Zoom author event on Sunday, June 28 as part of Proms at St Jude’s LitFest.
@clairecalman