My maternal grandmother was born in Braylia Romania. She and her sisters arrived in the United States bringing with them the hope of a new generation, the hard work of beginning again and one very importantly awful thing, the superstition of the Pooh-Pooh People. I first learned about the Pooh-Pooh People during the once a month family poker nights held at our home. Our house would smell of lily of the valley perfume mangled with the sinister odor of someone’s finest cigars melded with Peach Schnapps and some very old but stringent scotch seemingly dripping and oozing from the sweaty garments of our company. The highlight however of the one Saturday night month poker-fest, was that, if we (my little sister and I) had been good (and goodness knows the rewards for being good were WONDERFUL), we could walk down from the upstairs bedroom and have a corned beef sandwich (homemade by my mother), a dill pickle from my mothers own, and two pieces of homemade chocolate cake. My little sister and I knew exactly when to enter the dining room, it was the AROMA of everything homemade, and everything that my mother baked or cooked wafting upstairs almost tugging at us to come on down and eat some nush.
Of course there was the duty to say hello to the family, shake the Uncles hands, kiss the aunts, and save the best hug and kiss for my grandmother, who, since it was her daughters home, could lord over HER grandchildren. There was a routine, my little sister would first greet my grandmother, every one would say how pretty, then it was my turn, the king, the GRANDSON, the ooh’s and ahh’s were louder and more pronounced. But it was while in the grasp of my grandmothers arms that I was given the low down on who was winning and who was losing. I would dully be turned left or right to see the faces of Uncle this or Aunt that, and as my body was tossed, my grandmother would remind me,(really for the benefit of the rest of the family) why some won and some lost. My grandmother would say, Uncle Shrul did not say pooh-pooh when he won his third round, so he lost his fourth round. Aunt Mima, knew better, even when she came close not winning she would say pooh-pooh-pooh and the say out loud that both bad news and good news could come her way. Then my grandmother would turn me to face her and right before the corned beef was placed on the table next to the most delicious plate of pickles and sauerkraut, my grandmother would look me in the eye and pointing her very ruby red index finger tell me. bad news is a sure thing, good news not a sure thing. Even with bad news say pooh-pooh-pooh, so god doesn’t think you take anything for granted. then good news will follow. If you don’t notice the pooh-pooh people they will get you. My grandmother would then kiss me and low and behold my mother had my little sister’s and my tempting and mouthwatering sandwich and chocolate cake plates ready and off we went.
This week in America, supposedly on Thursday, we might finally receive some good news, regarding everything dishonest about Trump and his treasonous enablers. Thursday seems so close, but regarding anything Trump it might as well be miles away. Since I heard that James Comey is going to testify, publicly, I have been saying a pooh-pooh-pooh every night, wishing, hoping and praying justice finds its way back home. But my grandmother warned me, never take good news for granted!
