Ruffling my feathers...

As I write this, I am sipping tea from my favorite domestic diva mug, listening to some seriously mellow music, relishing that clean house smell. This is not to say that I’m a diva, a music aficionado, or fastidiously clean. It’s just that I have an appreciation for some of the simple pleasures in life.

I’m also not naïve. I know how hard we work as a family to afford ourselves these simple pleasures. Nor am I obtuse enough to think that these pleasures are guaranteed. A lovely mug, a great CD, and a clean house are indications of the fact that things in our life resemble some sort of equilibrium.

In Israel, strangers and friends alike seem to know everything about you. Something about the way one stands, holds their head, their very demeanor, gives away where they come from, what their political and religious standing is and even who they will vote will for in the next election. All before you’ve even had a chance to open your mouth.

It should come as no surprise, then, that I found myself in the middle of a surreal scene in the supermarket, where many assumptions were made about who I am, and how much was in my non-existent trust fund. I was standing in line on a busy Thursday morning. The woman in front of me, and the two ladies behind me, hailed from different parts of the world to me. The ladies behind me were having a discussion about the price of chicken, how you needed to spend NIS 100 in order to qualify for the “chicken discount”. They had no intention of spending NIS 100, but wouldn’t it be convenient if they could find some unsuspecting soul (sucker?) who was spending NIS 100 and yet was not buying chickens, of whom they could request said discount. Invariably, the ladies glanced into my cart, filled with yogurts, fruits and vegetables, which must have appeared like a flaming sign saying “Use Me!”

On most occasions, I’m happy and willing to help a friend or stranger – I’ll find a stranger to vouch for me. However, on this day my antenna was up. Something about the two ladies put me on my guard. The over-processed hair and super-decorated nails were not the deciding factor. It was the dishonesty of the tone. Inevitably, I was asked by the ladies if I would cooperate. I nodded my consent, concerned that if they heard my accent, something unexpected may occur.

And it did.

While I was busy with the ladies behind me, I wasn’t aware of the scene unfolding in front of me. The lady ahead of me walked straight up to me, my personal space utterly violated, and said “You’ll pay my bill, right?”. This was not so much a question as a statement of fact. Understandably, I was surprised. I said, “No, I’m sorry, not today…” my accent out on display. One would think that the flat out refusal would have been enough, but no. I was told that since I was a lady who would be giving charity this holiday season, I should cut out the middle man and go straight to the source. I can’t even begin to fathom the number of assumptions in that sentence. No witty reply came to me, though the music from the Twilight Zone did feature. Again, I said, “No I’m sorry.” The reply came back: “Because of you, my child will not have nappies tonight, and I see that yours will.” I casually told her that by returning the six-pack of Cola, the two boxes of chocolate and the seven bags of Doritos, all things my children would not be having that evening, she would have enough money to buy the nappies. Now the weeping started, the ladies behind me got involved, and asked what the big deal was. A lady of my accented birthplace could pay the bill for the entire supermarket. Honestly; does my accent automatically and biologically link me to Warren Buffet? If so, can some one send me his details?

I refused to move either from my spot, or my premise that I wouldn’t pay for the other lady’s groceries. Now the chicken ladies’ bill came out to NIS 130. She kindly offered that I could pay thirty and she would pay the remaining hundred. This was the last straw. I paid my bill, left the supermarket, went to load the car, and realized that my cool storming off was for naught, as I had forgotten my keys by the cashier. Had it been anything else; glasses, water bottle, a kidney, I would have left it, but how could I explain to my husband that I had donated the car to the greater good? Back to the scene I went, tail between my legs, looking for my keys, when all three ladies asked me for a ride home.

Every time we look up, we think that as people, as individuals, we have exceeded our capacity to meet challenges; that we can not handle all the stumbling blocks and burdens that are placed before us. I know that we are blessed because, as we look up, we realize that our capacity is limitless, that our hope will cover all burdens with its comforting blanket and thus we will move forward. As we enter a winter of financial uncertainty, let us cling to our capacity to hope, and our empathy for those around as.

Corn Chowder:
Two of my favorite budget friendly tips are soup, and cooking with seasonal products. Not only is the recipe below extraordinarily yummy, it is also budget friendly and fast.

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
3 large onions finely diced
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon coarse ground pepper
A healthy dash of turmeric
3 cups parev chicken stock
3 cups water
4 medium diced potatoes, unpeeled
5 cups corn kernels (strip about six cobs or use frozen)
Cheddar cheeses grated, to serve

In a large stock pot, heat oil and butter over medium heat until butter is melted.
Add the onions, salt, pepper and turmeric and cook until very soft, stirring often.
While the onions cook, prepare the rest of the vegetables.
When the onions are soft but not colored, about 10 minutes, add the stock and water. Now add the potatoes, bring the whole mess to a boil, allow to simmer uncovered for fifteen minutes or until the potatoes are cooked through.
Add the corn kernels to the soup; bring soup back to the boil and serve topped with grated cheddar. Yumm!