My mother is 85. Although she doesn’t look a day over 70. She takes no prescription drugs, no hormones; her memory is razor sharp. And she’s never been in the hospital a day since I’ve known her. But she wasn’t born yesterday. In any sense of the word.
When I was growing up I had no idea how enlightened Celia really was. All I knew was that she wasn’t like the other moms.
What was I supposed to think when folks uttered expletives behind her back? “Health nut!” “Health food freak!” “Food faddist!”
I remember my embarrassed apologies, which I’d utter with a small giggle, when my friends at Melrose Avenue Elementary poked inside my lunchbox and found nary a chocolate chip cookie, potato chip or even a white bread, packaged cheese or bologna sandwich. If they only knew that at home our milk was raw, our eggs fertile; our bread bulged with brown, grainy nuggets. But I wasn’t talking.
The last thing I got when I left for school wasn’t a chocolate doughnut. It was a shot glass full of vitamins with some freshly squeezed juice. And the worst part, my breakfast bowl wasn’t filled with blue and green marshmallows floating in a sea of snap, crackle and pop. We had to wait a full 20 minutes while mom patiently cooked our oatmeal, then topped it with blackstrap molasses, never sugar, raw butter, never margarine, plus unsulphured raisins and organic cheddar cheese.
While Celia was busy telling me “I was what I ate” — thanks a lot, Adelle Davis — I spent most of my waking moments wishing I could have bagels and lox for breakfast on school days and delicatessen with sweet rolls on the weekends. And just once, a real sandwich in my lunch instead of a pita filled with veggies, sunflower seeds and hummus? Did my mother even care that I was the kid sitting alone on the bench while all the other lunches got traded?
It wasn’t Grandma’s Fradel’s fault. She was a good kosher housewife who cooked typical Ashkenazi food, much the same as her mother and grandmother in Vilna had before her. She and Grandpa Charlie moved to Philadelphia from Vilna, Poland, in 1914, and stayed there for four years before moving west and settling in the predominantly Jewish neighborhood of Boyle Heights. OK, Los Angeles 90033. Celia and her sister, Dena, were 5 and 8, respectively.
Mom remembers the Breed Street Shul on Friday nights as a great social event, second only to Brooklyn Avenue on Thursday nights, when all the mamas shlepped their children shopping for Shabbos. She and Dena loved getting dressed up, taking turns helping Fradel push the shopping cart, choosing kosher chickens and freshly baked challahs, waving to their friends, begging Fradel for an ice cream cone. Since they didn’t have enough money to go to the movies, Brooklyn Avenue was their entertainment.
Celia was still in grammar school when Dena came home from a lecture, her cheeks flushed, raving about the amazing man she’d just heard. She asked her baby sister if she wanted to go with her the next night; she’d even offered their ushering services in exchange for free admission.
The lecturer was groundbreaking nutritionist Gayelord Hauser, who mentored movie stars such as Greta Garbo and Gloria Swanson (gorgeous into their 80s) about diet and lifestyle. It wasn’t very long before Celia and Dena were meeting holistic doctor Henry Bieler, scientist Linus Pauling, famed chiropractor Bernard Jensen and Paul Bragg, who opened the first health food store in America and popularized nutritional products such as his liquid amino acids, which mom still pours over just about everything. But their biggest heroine was nutritionist and best-selling author Davis, who convinced them to become vegetarians at ages 13 and 16.
Fradel didn’t know what to make of her daughters, but since fruits and vegetables were less expensive than meat, she didn’t complain too much. Of course Grandpa Charlie, tired and hungry from working as a scenic artist at Warner Bros. all day, wasn’t too thrilled; so Grandma would whip up his own meal of flesh.
Since all of Celia and Dena’s friends were interested in diet and health, they went on group hikes to Griffith and Hollenbeck parks and they continued going to more lectures. God was in his place. All was right with the world. Until Milton Levitt spotted Celia on a date with his friend and felt compelled to literally sweep her off her feet. Little did she know that her salad days were about to come screeching to a halt.
Milton was Celia’s only beau who owned a car — a 1930 Ford Roadster with a rumble seat — he proceeded to wine and dine her. She tried luring him to her lectures, her hiking, her vegan-eating activities, but he preferred playing baseball and chowing down on his mom’s Ashkenazi cuisine. And he was used to getting his way.
In self-defense, Celia learned how to make Fanny’s Brisket and Carrot Tsimmes, Potato Kugel, Chopped Liver, and Matzo Ball Soup. But in her heart, and, when left to her own devices, she’d slip some salad — go heavy on the avocado — onto his plate.
Four decades later Celia and Milton moved to Beverly Hills (the other B.H.). and are never home when you call them. Several times a year they are in Cleveland — where Milton is from — visiting their favorite relatives. For the past three decades Dena has lived in La Costa and Oceanside, in condos crammed full of supplements. She got her master’s in psychology at 70 and was a marriage and family counselor for a decade. They are all in perfect health.
Celia and Milton are still very much in love. Next October they will celebrate their 66th wedding anniversary. Hopefully, in Cleveland.
Celia is a 99 percent vegetarian. Milton loves meat. She even lets him eat it once in a while.
As for their three children, oops, I gotta go; I have just enough time to take my 17 supplements before dinner.