Lets us pretend that I have not just dropped off the blogosphere for months and pick up where we left off. Old friends can do that.
2 hours one hour to Passover and it has been quite a year; I’m not sure I remember breathing at any point.
The fulltime job I began last May turned out to be a calling, and also, fulltime plus…plus. My son’s bar mitzvah happened, and he was great; another son started driving; and both of my remaining grandparents died (no relevance to the driving son, in case you were wondering), which means both my parents sat shiva in the last few months. (My grandparents would have really liked that I made a joke about it. Relax.) My husband became a half-marathon addict, an obsessive hobby I like much better than his last few.
Everything else, pretty much a blur. When I wonder how long I can keep up this pace, I remember that I can rest when the world runs out of coffee in roughly 2047 (I just made that up, but about 500 fellow addicts just completed the aneurisms they’ve been working on)… and that the quiet and time I long for usually just make me feel guilty and indulgent.
Like now, minutes before we begin Passover, I can think of nothing better to do with some surprising free time than to revive my blog. In profound mode, I might wax thematic: Freedom and Responsibility; Structure and Renewal; Family and Tradition. The Four Sons as a model for the stages of child development. If you want profound, try here and here.
In embattled, progressive mode it would be Passover in Israel and the United Front for the Fall of the (divisive, hypocritical) Kitniyot Ban. I could also, in the spirit of Easter, go after the Seven Deadly Sins: The Passover hotel experience actually deserves a book. How did the holiday to celebrate exodus and peoplehood and the journey to a Homeland turn into Five Towns’ Top Model, Live from South Florida? But I can’t muster up the snark today. Maybe it’s all the bleach I inhaled?
Feeling more nostalgic, perhaps I’d write about the seders I remember in my grandmother’s house, when I was the only sentient being under 20, and therefore, the exclusive Four Question-er for many years. Or the Streitz Passover cookies and those half-moon jelly things my brother and I would demolish in the back of the Toyota on the way up to New York, and the voice of the 1010WINS news guy we’d wake up to on the Van Wyck.
But here I am, watching the light fade in a way that tells me that the holiday will start in about an hour, and listening to my testosterone-crazed children fight over imagined territory, and feeling simply grateful. For being created female. And for the freedom to *not* say any of the above. And for the time I had to not say it.
More nothing later.
Get these posts via RSS or email.
Just posts, nothing spammy!