A bagel run did not involve physical exertion but was a ritual of going to the bagel store in the morning after a sleepover at her house. It also involved buying smoked salmon, a newspaper and candy, but the bagels were most important.
Nan looked like she had been awake for hours. In fact, I have no memory of every seeing her or my grandfather in their bed. Strange that their bedspread was always perfectly smooth. There was no time to sleep, unless you were a kid and then you had better be in bed early.
She hovered around us, making sure we dressed quickly so we could leave. My grandfather, however, was calm and somewhat oblivious to the mounting tension. He didn't want to rush us along and in this way he was a counter balance to Nan.
After hustling us downstairs, Nan tossed our jackets at us and pushed me out the door while Red Dog, her Irish Setter, jumped around like a pogo stick. We could never leave the house fast enough for Nan.
"Hurry up Louie...they need to eat breakfast today, not tomorrow," she said.
Our first stop was Tabatchnik's Appetizing, a small shop where you could buy smoked fish, chopped liver, herring, pickles and cream cheese.
"I'll have a pound of Nova." said Grandpa. He meant cold smoked salmon.
"The usual," echoed Marty, who always sliced the fish for us. I liked him because he gave me and my brother little pieces to taste. Marty sliced the pink flesh with precision into slices that were as thin as tracing paper. Mesmerized, I could have stayed for hours.
Next door was the newspaper shop owned by an elderly German couple, the Finkelsteins, who were eager to talk about politics with my grandfather. While they talked about Watergate and Nixon, my brother and I discussed the candy selection. We were allowed one piece each and took our time. I either went with a package of red licorice, a box of Sugar Babies or a Charleston Chew. You would think we had never seen candy before.
By the time we arrived at the bagel shop, the line was out the door. It was time to focus and decide exactly what combination of bagels we wished to buy. We knew we wanted a dozen, which came with one free bagel.
"How about three sesame, four onion, two salt, four cinnamon raisin?" suggested Grandpa.
"I like pumpernickel," I said.
"O.K. Three sesame, three onion, two salt, three cinnamon raisin and two pumpernickel?"
"I want a plain bagel," said Lee.
My grandfather was patient and seemingly unaware of time, yet he knew the unspoken rules of the bagel store. When it was our turn my grandfather ordered for us. No one in Great Neck said "please" at the bagel store. No one said "Thank you." If you forgot this decorum people might think you were from the Midwest. You said what you wanted and you moved to the side so the next person could order. Period.
My grandfather said, "I'll have two sesame, two plain, two onion, two pumpernickel, four cinnamon raisin."
The bagel man, who always looked annoyed, said, "You get one free." as if he hated saying it. He could have been saying, "Please, shoot me in the head and take all my money."
You couldn't just order thirteen bagels. You had to wait for him to say, "You get one free" and then you requested the additional bagel.
"Salt." said my grandfather. Then he paid and got change. No one said "Thank you" or "Have a nice day."
My brother and I both wanted to carry the warm bag of bagels home. We had to switch off each week but no one remembered who carried it last so sometimes we each carried it half the time in the car.
Our total time since we left Nan's house was less than forty five minutes. Nonetheless, Nan was agitated when we walked in the front door.
"What took so long?" she said. I don't think it mattered what time we arrived because her perception was always right and we were late. Sunday morning was the same as every other morning in Nan's world: a rush for some reason. There was always a reason and it could change at any time. After all, she made the rules and invented the problems.
"Wash your hands! People are sick in this town!" she said.
With clean hands we sat down at the table, each of us placing our candy in front of our plate for afterwards. Red Dog positioned himself at my feet. Nan had poured little blue glasses of orange juice for us.
"Drink your juice! You need liquids!"she said.
"Not hungry? Oh you have such problems. During the Depression no one had enough for a sandwich, much less a cup of soup! Your grandfather ate a bag of peanuts for lunch. Your great-grandmother had to rent out rooms to put food on the table. And you can't eat a bagel!"
If this didn't shame me, one look at my grandfather did the trick. I believed that if I didn't eat that bagel I was somehow responsible for their past suffering. There is a name for this kind of persuasion from a Jewish grandmother.
This is why I had a special relationship with Red Dog. If I couldn't finish my food, he was ready under the table to help me out. He chewed quietly. This only happened some of the time because, like most kids, I loved a bagel and salmon.
Nan was a tough lady who didn't hear the word"no." She lived in fear of what would become of me because I ate my mother's cooking. Nan used to pick up my shirt, without asking, to examine my rib cage. Then she would shake her head and mutter:
"Why doesn't she eat?" as if talking to no one in particular. My brother, Lee, kept her satisfied because his chubby belly was a proclamation of health. I was thin until I went to college and thus a constant concern to her.
Looking back, I don't ever want to force feed anyone, especially the ones I love. I still love bagels but in Bozeman they taste like bread. This just isn't the place for a bagel run. When I visit NYC I love to eat bagels. New Yorkers always say that the bagels taste the way they do because of the water and I know it is true.