it is yom kippur, the jewish day of repentance. i am 32 years old and i have mononucleosis, also known amongst teenagers as "the kissing disease."
"did your hubby give it to you?" asks the friendly nurse at NYU student health center. "no, i don't have a husband." i reply. "i'm sorry" she laughs, "i thought you did. i don't know why. and now you have mono and i just reminded you you don't have a husband. my bad."
my bad, indeed. to what do i owe this suffering?
lymph nodes as big as golf balls, a throat so rough and swollen, there might as well be an artichoke stuffed inside it. my lids grow heavy from the stress of a trip back and forth from manhattan. i drift into another sweat-soaked sleep and find myself in ancient korea, breathing in kimchee fumes as i ferment cabbage and grind shrimp paste until my wrists are brittle and sore.
this seems like a strange dream for a midwestern-raised jewish girl to be having, but the truth is i am up to my neck in kimchee these days. i am taking a korean food course as part of my food studies degree, and part of our assignment is watching this amazing old korean soap opera called jewel in the palace, which i like to think of as a korean game of thrones. minus the sex. definitely no sex. but lots of violence. and kimchee for days. i wake up only long enough to realize i'll be missing that class tomorrow due to the mono, and that, damn, tomorrow we were trying rice cakes. not the nasty dry kind quaker makes that americans think of as diet food, but the sturdy glutinous noodles that are amazingly chewy and soft and most often found under a steam bath of hot chili sauce and korean vegetables.
but let's be honest, all i can take down right now is a couple of saltines and a popsicle.
i drift back into my cocoon of sleep and i am back at camp, the place where i spent 10 summers of my adolescent and young adult life. camp was in zionsville, indiana. a place where no one who didn't go there should have heard of. it consists of little more than a winding road, a cow patch and a few low-budget constructs when put together was something that reform jews from ohio, indiana, kansas, kentucky, missouri, and ontario lovingly called camp. so i was there, but not there. it was camp, but not really. i was kicking down a dirt path, and there was mr. thornton, my high school theater teacher (and quiet mentor of almost all students who spent time on his stage), who has been in my dreams fairly regularly since he passed away in march.
i was in israel at the time, writing about my father, and his father, and the amazing falafals and tahini i was eating. meeting my sisters fiancee, exploring the alleyways and ancient footpaths, and somewhere in that za'atar scented week, he died. just like that. and all i could do was sit by myself on the ground outside of my sisters little apartment and find a stray cat to clutch for a few hours and cry a little. just to have something warm in my hands, impervious to my sadness, who didn't run away and curled up in a perfect little ball in my lap and napped.
i loved that cat. she didn't ask any questions. didn't mind i wasn't holding an israeli passport. just seemed content to have a warm lap to hang out in for awhile. and i thought of mr. thornton, whom we called j.t, cause his first name was james. he laughed loud and heartily, and he was the wisest person i ever met. and he cared so much. when we were hungry he fed us raw almonds. the last time i saw him i had tears in my eyes because he had a tumor in his brain and he just smiled and sang something whimsical, like he always did (i'm forever blowing bubbles...). there was nothing processed in his world. everything was fresh and real and juicy, like strawberries. he lived the most amazing life.
in my dream he put his hand on my shoulder, and we looked at each other, and i was so happy to have him back.
today i thought that saltines might be my only friends now that i have this thing, but then i thought, well that's a little dramatic.
in korea they don't say "how are you?" as a greeting. they say "have you eaten?" my teacher says i'm korean on the inside. i think this is a total compliment. food is good. food is love.
this summer was so hot. it was unbearable, expect for the glorious tomatoes and sweet sweet corn. i think i ate tomatoes every day. they were overflowing in baskets at the market; i had never seen them look so vibrant; verging on bursting and intoxicating with the herby scent of vines. i made corn soup twice this summer and didn't even cook the corn. it was that good.
now it is fall, my favorite season and all i can do is sleep. there is perfectly crisp air outside but i can't seem to make it past my bedroom, where it is safe and warm and tempting as a siren's lair. oh, mono. this isn't supposed to happen in your 30's. it's supposed to be a rite of passage in your teens, like the chicken pox, getting your period, whatever. it's supposed to be awesome in 8th grade when you don't have to go to school for 3 weeks and you can stay home and snooze all day and everyone feels so bad for you. not now! not when you have stuff to do and adult responsibilities.
i curse my luck but the thought of a popsicle perks me up. soon, i will return to my dream land, deciding on tomorrow's soups just before drift off. hopefully there will be crisp leaves, gingerbread muffins and pumpkin scented air where i go.
