Happy Wednesday! Summer is winding down, and we’re already preparing for the upcoming school year. In September, when the kids are back in class, I’ll be looking at some new things on my blog. For now, I’m enjoying the slower pace of these last couple weeks of August.
This week’s WIPpet features Izzy’s two moms. They’re not in this a whole lot, but they do show up a few times. If I wrote historical lesfic, I’d give them their own story—that’s how much I love them. If anyone wants to borrow them, feel free. 🙂 (Eema is the counterpoint to abba—it means “mom” or “mommy.” Qabbalat Shabbat is a Friday evening worship service, often with social time and light food afterward. This is different from the Saturday Torah service; it’s far less formal.)
WIPmath: A bit long; 17 paragraphs for the 17th.
He was late. By the time he arrived at his mothers’ house, Eema was lighting the candles. She stood before them, her head covered in an elegant scarf, wafting the light smoke of the candle as it drifted upward. Izzy closed the door as gently as he could then watched her, a smile on his lips. You could take a woman out of Orthodoxy, but you couldn’t eradicate all traces from her life. Even as a little boy he’d been entranced by her graceful motion and the sound of her prayers as they left her lips. He was no less so now, despite all the times he’d seen her do it.
When she was through, she glanced over at Izzy. “You’re late.”
He chuckled. “I know, and I’m sorry. I overslept.”
Eema glided over to him and reached up to pat his cheek. It was quite a distance; Eema was only five-foot-one, and Izzy was almost exactly a foot taller.
“You should get more sleep.”
Leave it to Eema to state the obvious. Izzy knew better than to talk back to her, though. “I know. I’m trying.”
“Good.”
“Did you go to Qabbalat Shabbat?”
“Of course I did. You should come with me sometime. They have one for you young folk once a month, you know.”
The statement carried the weight of its multiple implications, but Izzy only smiled. “Maybe I will, if I’m not working.”
The table was already set, and Ma Rose ported the last of the food, the homemade biscuits she’d been keeping warm. They sat down, and Izzy winced at the stiffness in his thighs. He really needed to get back into running. Unfortunately for him, Ma Rose’s keen eyes didn’t miss a thing. She arched an eyebrow.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Just a little stiff. It’s nothing I can’t cure with a good run.” He picked up his fork and snagged a bite of chicken, using it to stall so he could speak without setting off a new round of questions. “I’ve been picking up extra shifts, so I haven’t had as much time as I’d like.” They were not to know he was referring to his night job.
“You work too hard,” Eema chided. “Do something fun.”
He laughed. “Running is fun! I need to be in shape for spring.”
“Ah!” Ma Rose exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “I’d forgotten you registered for the Boston. You’re in?”
“Yes. First time I’ve ever beaten the qualifying time by enough.” He’d been as surprised as anyone when he clocked in under three in Chicago the previous year. It had been his best time in years.
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and Ma Rose ported the last of the food
I don’t understand what ‘ported’ means here.
It’s an archaic shortened form of “transported,” but I’ve seen it often enough I think it’s come back in fashion in fiction.
My WIPs are unedited, so this is usually whatever I put down on the page before my beta readers see it.
A nice family, roundtable conversation with Izzy trying to avoid any complicated situations that would reveal things he doesn’t want them to know. Nice. I like the dialogue and could picture it in my imagination.
Shalom aleichem,
Patricia
I’m glad it worked for you! 🙂
Lots of layers here… definitely some good emotional connections that want to go deeper and dare not. I like. I do hope that Izzy gets those pains checked out…
No worries, Izzy will get himself to a doctor, as soon as someone who *isn’t* related to him says so, LOL. He and his moms are very close, but they usually get to the deep things in roundabout ways.
You can’t fool one attentive mom – but two? Oh, Izzy…you’re going to exhaust yourself trying to keep your secrets, and it’s probably for naught.
Personally, I loved the way you used ‘ported.’ It made me think of ‘portage,’ which is moving a canoe by carrying it, so I had this vision of Ma Rose carrying a platter of biscuits bigger than she was!
I don’t think you’re going to be able to run the Boston, Izzy. But I hope I’m wrong.
Hahaha! Yep, you have his moms down. Izzy knows he can’t hide anything, but he always gives it the old college try, LOL.
That was exactly what I had in mind using the word “ported.” 🙂
And only time will tell if Izzy’s able to run.
I really like this.
Aw, thanks! 🙂
I want to know more about those biscuits. 😉
These three are fascinating. Also, I’m worried about Izzy’s legs. I hope it’s only the sudden burst of training and not something more sinister. 😮
LOL, definitely American style biscuits, and not the Southern type, which are made with buttermilk. These are more dense, a little sweeter, and can be made without milk (or with a substitute).
I love Izzy’s moms. 🙂 They’re definitely fun to write. Izzy doesn’t always like to listen to them, so it’s going to take someone else telling him he needs to take care of himself before he has anything checked out.
*must try American biscuits*