Twas the night before Pesah, when all through the house
the mother was stirring, with gefilte fish on her blouse.
The haggadot, homemade, were printed with care,
In hopes that Elijah soon would be there.
The hamtez was gone, not a crumb of bread,
While visions of haroset danced in her head.
And boychick in his yarmulke, and matzah in wrap,
The table all set, at which no one better nap.
On Friday after school, the girl was playing with a friend after school at the playground. They bent their heads together to tell secrets, as second grade girls are wont to do, but all I could see were images of the letter sent home a couple of days earlier: “second grade… lice… nits… check your child…”
“Pie, watch your hair!” I yelled across the climbing structures.
On the way home, I reminded her, “You have to be careful! You don’t want to get lice!”
She thought for a moment and then said, “But wouldn’t it be appropriate? After all Passover is Monday night and lice was one of the plagues! We’d just be re-creating one of the plagues! That would be okay!”
I looked at her and couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. So I said, “Listen, you really want a plague? I’ll cut myself when I chop the apples. Blood was a plague. And I’d much rather have my blood than any lice in the house.”
That seemed to appease her. Now I just hope she doesn’t hold me to it!
(For the Duchess and my other goyim friends:
note: the underline h is a guttural sound, the ch
Pesah=the Hebrew word for Passover
haggadot=the plural of haggadah, the book we read at our Passover meal, which is called the seder
hametz=the leavened foods that are forbidden during Passover
haroset=a yummy mixture usually of apples, nuts, cinnamon, honey, and sweet wine, which symbolizes the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves when making bricks
yarmulke=the head-covering men and some women wear)
Shall we start by saying that Punxsutawney Phil is a big fat liar? The groundhog promised us an early spring. Guess who’s serving up groundhog for dinner tonight? Stupid Phil.
This morning I ran in as many layers as I did in January. Whenever I run in the brutal cold, I come home with huge swathes of red on my body, and it itches like all heck. I have to wait as long as I can to shower as when I do, the cold patches start to burn like pins pricking all over my body. I thought that this happened to everyone, but according to my friend (and running partner) the Duchess*, I have an actual honest-to-goodness known “thing” (albeit to a minor degree): It’s called Cold urticaria. I feel so special now!
At this one moment in time, I have that feeling of utter freedom as I’m between things. Last week I sent both my revised novel and marketing plan to my agent. Yesterday was the Women’s Seder at my synagogue, of which I am co-chair. It’s a big event, where we spend a year writing a new haggadah and then we have the actual planning/doing of the seder itself, which was no small feat. I was excited that we had 68 women come, and it seemed to be a rousing event.
(Of course, as I was leaving–wearing an actual skirt, jewelry, and a shirt with no rips [well, I thought there were no rips; one was discovered later, but the intention was there], I asked the boy, “How do I look?” He, never taking his eyes off the computer, answered, “Fine.” That boy is his father’s child through and through.)
So at this moment, I have no deadlines more pressing than next Monday’s Passover seder. There will be 20 of us, but others folks are helping with the cooking and I’ve got an entire week to prep, which is more than I’ve ever had, I think.
Time to tackle the more mundane to-do list and sneak in a movie or two off Netflix! Yea!
*By the way, I acknowledge that it’s odd that I haven’t mentioned this friend before, as she’s been my most faithful running partner for about two years now; however, running takes place in a “vault.” Everything said on a run is absolutely secret, as they’re basically 6-mile therapy sessions, so most of what I would say about her, I can’t, because it’s been vaulted. Hence, she is a mystery woman to you all.
