The Gates Are Closed. I journey to the East River Again. I sit by the waters of Babylon with Twinkie in hand. The holiday is over. I was unable to cast you away.
So, I will eat you.
Author: myslipwaspink
Twinkies Sink
I walk briskly to the East River in the pelting rain. It’s Thursday afternoon. The clock is ticking as I have only one more day to cast my sins into the water before the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur. I hold my flimsy Duane Reade umbrella up to the gray sky in defiance. A box of Twinkies is tucked under my arm. I am determined to say the Tashlich prayer for a second time as I run through the urban monsoon. I did this ritual yesterday, but it didn’t work out to well. It was bright and sunny, a perfect day for repentance and divine forgiveness. I brought my optimistic loaf of Wonder Bread downtown to the Hudson River Park, closed my eyes, and threw it in for baptism. I prayed, “Please let this white bread symbolize my sins over the past years. Let them sink to the depths of the river, or at least let the fish have a good meal. God, please let the decree for me this year be a little better than last this last one. I am committed to being a better person. While I haven’t apologized to the people I offended, I thought about it.” To my horror, “my baggage’ the Wonder Bread, floated back to me. It was not even water logged.
So, I have this brilliant idea. Cast the Twinkie. That girl’s been around. As the queen of golden cake and cream, she fell from grace into oblivion. Bankrupt. She got in bed with private equity guys for a bail out. This nibble was accused of driving people to manslaughter due to sugar insanity. The defense was known as the “Twinkie Plea.” Competitors said that she had a shelf life of over 100 years due to the chemicals in her ingredients. Ridiculous. With all those toxins, the Twinkie had to at some point become a food with no wrinkles.
I arrive at the river drenched, with no umbrella, but with the Twinkie box in hand. I march to the railing and look out onto Long Island City. I cast the Twinkies out into the horizon. “You lost your way” I call with genuine compassion.
The Twinkies sink.
Living Today
Corner of NYC
Wonder Bread Of Expiation
I cast off a loaf off Wonder Bread into the Hudson River. I am free! The ducks are fed….
The Wonder Bread of Expiation
It’s the Jewish new year, and I’m atoning for my sins in the hope of redemption. I’m up to sin number 2345. That’s a lot of people to to apologize to. It’s also alot of bread to through in the water. An ancient custom which symbolizes literallycasting away one’s sins. Or better, giving up the baggage that keeps us stuck.
So, this year I figured I would try it . I made a major pilgrimage downtown to the Hudson river. The vista was so spectacular that I felt spiritual. It this doesn’t do it nothing will, I thought. I said to myself, I’m really sorry for all of it, as I threw in a loaf of Wonder Bread. It treaded water and floated back to me.
So much for my expiation this year.
In Memory….
Tomorrow’s life is too late. Live today. Martial
I think about what I want to do and do it today. Tomorrow is too late.
These words are my prayer.
Messages Through The TV
I thought about starting to write my resume. What would I do if I were being really honest? Travel writer. That sounds good. Journeying to new places and eating. Of course, I have anxiety traveling below 70th street. And I still haven’t figured out how to use the camera that a friend gave me for my birthday. But new classes are coming up for the fall season at the 92nd Street Y. Tour guide. I’m good at meeting new people, but then there are so many of them marching around Rockefeller Center. I’ll bet they are very territorial. How about French Chef? Julia Child became a phenomenon late in life. But I’ve never even boiled water. I just removed an entire library of recipe books from my closets and their lying on my living room couch. This little book farm is sprawled out disabled, out of action. They remind me of former of engagements. I know I should get rid of them. Donate them to a happy cooker. It’s hard to part with past unmet expectations. What are the new ones? I hear the mumbling of the TV.
So, God, don’t you think it’s time that you tell me what my mission in life is? What only I am meant to do? As I think this, I hear a character from an old black and white film say, “Trust in God, and be yourself. And I wondered, does God give us messages through the television set?
First Day of Fall
I”m taking a screenwriting class today. In a rush to get down to the Penn Station. Don’t want to miss the part on plot development. I’ve never been good at planning!
Spring Is Here and I’m Sneezing
Rita is giggly. She’s probably picking up guys as we speak. She called me at midnight squealing,” I”m a cougar, I’m a cougar.” Oh no, I thought, now I have to deal with her adolescence.
“Pinkslip, I have another date on Friday” she said excitedly.
” Listen, I take it your not going to synagogue Listen. Don’t “put out on the first date. And don’t tell him whether you buy or rent. Keep him guessing. ” I said trying to be helpful.
Well, they say happiness is contagious. But I wasn’t. I was ashamed at my own schadenfreude for all these years.
“I feel like a teenager again” she yelled.
“Rita, I’m so happy for you!” I cheered.
But inside I felt miserable. Its just that I never thought that at this point in life I would be living with a canine. Don’t get me wrong. I’m counting my blessings. She’s blond and doesn’t talk back. I have shelter and kibble. But I never thought my life companion would have four paws. But then again, many people would consider that trading up.
Ugh, love is everywhere. Even my dog, Brie, has become a flirt. In fact, she has fallen in love with a Cairn terrier down the block. When he comes within a few feet of her, she pounces in front of him frantically, and then runs away. My mature terrier repeats this frantic ritual 3 or 4 times until totally exhausted. Then,. with her last burst of strength, she sprints down the street, dragging me like roadkill. She also started to wake up every morning at 3 am to flirt with the newspaper delivery guy. In the middle of the night, she listens for the “thud” that is her call to duty. Then, she jumps out of my bed like Bat Dog and arrives at the door within a nanosecond. First there’s the low guttural growl. ” Grrrr ” Then a soft “arf….arf.”
A little louder. “Arf…Arf….”
A little faster, “Arf…Arf…”
Now, she howls with a cute smile. “ARF! ARF!”
The newspaper delivery guy howls back through the door, ” AROOOGH!”
He leaves, and she whines until 6:00, when my alarm goes off. She then returns to my bed and stretches out on my pillow with paws in all directions, grinning. It’s time for me to get up and for her to get her beauty rest.
Jane Ranzman Writer 