I have two neighbors who have been hosting a seder together for almost 30 years. For the last three years, they’ve invited us to join them, mostly, they joke, because their kids have all become adults and what’s a seder without children? So we walk down the street, carrying charoset. We read from the haggadah, and we stay up so late that the girls, drunk on grape juice, get glassy and sparkly in the candlelight. And when they read about this holiday of collective Jewish memory, they find themselves in that story, too. Continue reading
Last week for Joey’s birthday, we went down to New York for the day so he could see his favorite podcast, RISK!, live and in person. That show was so good, it sparked a whole new round of us talking about it with friends who don’t listen to podcasts, retelling the stories (always ending in “Oh, I can’t do it justice- you just have to listen!), explaining how we access them, and trying to convince them that they, too, can be someone who listens to podcasts. This morning I saw that the entire RISK! show we saw (the second and last stories are my favorites, especially) was up and available for anyone to listen to, and I though it might be a good time to talk about podcasts, how we access them, and start a running list of podcasts you might want to check out.
So there I am, in the cockpit of my tiny all-manual-in-every-way silver Saturn. It’s 12 years ago, nearly exactly, and I’m driving because at this point (a few months into our relationship) Joey does not know how to operate a stick shift.
(He would later go on to become really good at it. I’d teach him to breathe his way through the gears somewhere in rush hour traffic between Seattle and Vancouver, and this lesson would be one more nail in the coffin when it came to me as someone who drives. Don’t get me wrong. I drive. I’m a good driver. But I’ve been in accidents, and I’ve lost people I love in cars, and I’ve even been hit by lightening driving home from work. The driver’s seat is where I put my fears.) Continue reading
I’m an aspirational organizer.
I think that once, long ago, I really was a real organizer. But since the stuff of adulthood has filled my life, it’s all dreams now.
In my dreams, my file cabinet is not the drawer filled with the last 5 years of paid bills–it’s color coded and clear, and it contains only the papers I need. I see jars lined up, alphabetized, always put back in their section. The mudroom has no flip-flops in winter, no winter boots in the summer. I know where everything is. Each object has its place. In my dreams, pinterest is real. Continue reading
Last week, our big bookshelf in the den spit a book out at me. It’s more of a pamphlet than a book really, from that time when self-publishing meant typing up a book and taking it to a printer for stapling. I’m not sure if I’d ever seen it before, although someone must have shoved it in there. But right then, I sat down on the floor and read the entire thing from yellow cover to cover. Continue reading