Singles weekend

Singles weekend

Fast days. I know they are an integral part of my religion. I totally understand why we have them. But I have the same question after every successful fast day — is it easier for skinny people to fast, because they barely eat anything every other day of the week?

Yes, I know that some of you skinny people say that you “eat all the time, and eat everything.” Yes, I do want to kill some of you, but it has just got to be easier for those folks. Has anyone ever done a study on this? If big people eat all day long, fasting has got to be harder for them. Anyone agree with me? Or do you all just think I am being a little nutty? And when I use the word “nutty,” do the skinny folks reading this think “nutty” just means crazy, whereas the bigger folks reading this read “nutty” and think, “Gee, I could really use a Snickers bar?” I would prefer a Hershey’s bar with almonds at this particular moment, but that’s just me. I will have to circle back to this topic at some point. Perhaps after the next fast… See, something to look forward to.

But this Tisha B’Av went pretty quickly. Camp Babka was running a mini-session for its favorite and only camper, and my co-counselor, Husband #1 aka Papa, was on the clock as well. We took shifts with our little Strudel, and I actually think she was happy with the change of scenery. My co-counselor gets a little jealous when Strudel shows me more love, so he needs his one-on-one time. And that one-on-one time is totally worth it when he holds her and she puts her head on his shoulder. It actually really is adorable, and I wish that beautiful moment on anyone reading this.

With all of the bad stuff that has happened to this house this year, those moments make all of that other stuff disappear, at least for a little while.

When thinking about what to write for this week’s column, I realized that this coming weekend is Shabbos Nachamu. Before I got married, that meant getting ready for a singles weekend. Do they still have those? A singles weekend in my day meant, first and foremost, having at least one or two friends to go with. I know, for sure, that one of my “ride or die” singles weekend friends reads this, so shout out to my girl in Chi Town. The next part was selecting which hotel to grace with our presence. The choices used to be many the Browns, the Concord, the Homowack, the Friar Tuck Inn, the Tamarack…and those are just the ones I remember. Are any of those still around? I have absolutely no idea.

So you had your friends, you picked the place, and then you had to pack.

Packing was much different then, because being modern Orthodox was also different then. You could throw pants in the mix. Not so much today. At all. My oreos will probably not be happy with this column, because they have a mom who, yikes, still wears pants. But they love me and they know that is just who I am.

You really see the differences in your children when it comes to something like this. I know which kid will say something outright, which kid will not mention it but might tell me some story relating to the subject, and which kid still wants to use my credit card so he will tell me that everything I do is perfect. Guess it’s a good thing I only have three kids. Thank God. Anyway, back to packing.

You needed an outfit for before every meal, for the meal, for after the meal. Before the before the next meal, for before the next meal, for the meal, and so on and so on. You also needed clothing to play tennis in, to go boating in, and to look like you were going to do some other sort of sporty activity. But really, there is nothing like hanging with your friends and looking around the room wondering if your future spouse was there. And when you look back on it 27 years later, and you actually know where your future spouse was that weekend, you thank God that you found him. But really, the best thing to happen is when you and your friend get engaged and married at the same time, and you can talk about all of those singles weekends, and how they brought us to where we are today.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck went to many singles weekends and Husband #1 only went to one. Is there is a moral to that story?

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