Counting Latkes

Every Hanukkah the women in our family gather for the traditional latke making event. Kitchen counter space is cleared. Cookie sheets wait in anticipation. Oil is poured. Potatoes, eggs and onions are chopped.

And as we’ve been doing for years, as we chop, stir and fry, we talk about men, love and sex. I mean, what else do women talk about while cooking?

But what makes this conversation different from ones we’ve had on other nights is the focus of the discussion. Usually my ninety-three-year mom, our matriarch holds the wisdom and doles out the advice. This time the expression on her face informs me that she’s totally dumbfounded and must feel like she’s walked onto the set of a sci-fi movie.

We are talking about using iPhone apps for birth control, a concept completely foreign to her frame of reference. In fact, a lot of this new technology is hard for me grasp. I can only imagine how confused my mother must feel.

Her eyes get wide and she shakes her head as she listens. Birth control itself was not around her in younger days, let alone using a phone to tell you when your egg is ready for a sperm.

As my niece explains to her how it works her expression turns to wonderment, much like a toddler’s. I know she’s reaching into her memory trying to categorize this information. But unlike a toddler who will hold the answer tightly in his little fist and move on to the next curious item, my mother will forget and ask me again. And yet again. Dementia has taken her away from us.

“How many latkes are you going to make?” she asks, tossing the app discussion aside.

“About 100,” I say.

“That many?” She begins to count the latkes as they are laid on the tray. “What about this app?”

My niece tells her again how it works. But she’s not listening anymore. She’s back to counting.

That’s her job now, according to her. Spreading out the paper towels on the cookie sheets and counting. Over and over and over.

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And so-she counts.

We continue talking about the best time of day to have sex. And what foods to eat if you want a girl. We giggle like school children, sharing secrets on the playground.

“There’s 40 on this tray,” my mom says. “How many are you going to make?”

“About 100,” I say, as the oil sizzles, turning the latkes in the pan a golden brown.

Something in the crackling of the oil, or perhaps the whirring of the food processor, or the taste of the crispy latke, snaps my mom into awareness. “You’ve got be kidding? Your phone tells you when to have sex.”

“Not quite like that,” my niece answers. She begins to explain how the app works, but within minutes, the mom that could understand, is gone again.

“How about that,” she says. “How many latkes are you going to make?”

Just then my granddaughter comes through the kitchen. She’s recording her great grandmother on her Snapchat story. As she walks past, I hear my mom’s voice repeating over and over. It’s hard enough to hear her repetition in real time. I don’t like that my granddaughter is making fun of my mother.

But then I hear my granddaughter say in a sweet tone, “That’s my great grandma. It’s her recipe.” And I realize she’s not making fun, but documenting our family history, and doing it with love. Before leaving, she gives my mother a hug.

The future is sure to hold strange, incomprehensible inventions for my grandchildren and all the generations to follow. Technology is moving at such a fast pace.

But as long as there are women in my family, I know they will be sharing secrets while frying, eating and counting latkes.