My mother, hardly drank alcohol, she would sip the wine four times for the Passover Seder (we, of course, used Manischewitz Wine, which in reality should not be considered in the wine family, it is more of a very sugary candy bar), and even drinking that, bothered my mother, but tradition IS tradition as far as she was concerned, so drink it was (or more like a sip it), and made the same distorted face she automatically made whenever someone asked her to just try green beans! My mother was a strong person, I still admire her for the fortitude, honesty, and understanding of right from wrong, good from bad in which she believed and instilled upon her children. But being human, my mother encountered times in her life where she physically became nervous, agitated and at the time I did not realize the word anxious, she would suddenly feel overwhelmed, unable to settle in on what exactly was bothering her, but admitting that “a whole of something was settling over her.” She used a made-up word called ‘MITCHIE.” The word’s origin she finally told us was a combination of mind over matter and an itchy feeling not on her skin but under her skin.
When my siblings were old enough (old enough as per my mother’s own definition of age, she would share openly with us, that she was either feeling “MITCHIE,” or in fact she needed to rest at the moment as she felt the ‘MITCHIE’S” coming on. Apparently having the ‘MITCHIES was not so made up, because my Grandma Braff, full of her Romanian voodoo, curses, superstitions, cure all’s understand exactly what my mother was going through and knew the remedy was a shot glass full of Peach Schnapps, to be swallowed in one gulp, immediately followed by tapping the now empty glass on the table three times as quickly as possible! As the one grandson living in Pittsburgh, and to be honest, the only grandson of two who cared, I became privy to ask questions of my Grandmother, while we played Gin Rummy (at which she cheated). There were so many superstitions, (I called them the curse of the Pooh-Pooh People (a whole other BLOG), that where to start was always difficult.
But I finally had the chance to ask my Grandmother about the “MITCHIE’S.” Fearful I might have traversed into a dark and deep Romanian trove of bad spirits; I was quite taken aback when the response I received was a simple explanation: Grandma Braff: “Once our bodies arrive on land (no mention of womb here), we have the capacity to fill our bodies with as much good as possible, that is our intent, but waiting in the wings are the Pooh-Pooh People, who somehow came to be shrunken less elastic beings, they are so embarrassed by their bodies they hide in the shadows. But they are wise enough to know when a regular human is feeling tired, or stressed, and the Pooh-Pooh People seize the moment and try to squeeze into our bodies and grow. The Pooh-Pooh People are allergic to schnapps, especially the taste of peach, drinking it makes them fall apart. Tapping the glass three times is also a warning for the Pooh-Pooh People because it is a warning that if you try to enter the body a third time, you will be terminated forever. I believed none of that, but my Grandmother provided me the pursed red lipstick look, and I knew Q&A time had ended. And somehow with all of that my Grandmother, gleefully shouted “GIN!”
I tell this story because throughout the Trump Dictatorship I have been filled with the “MITCHIE’S”. I am so overwhelmed from what happened last night to what happens when I put the news on the next day, so when I post my blog to when I fall asleep. It makes me wonder if maybe I should try a little Peach Schnapp’s!
