Shana Tova, My Love

We had thrown the usual out the window and just coming back to us was on the front burner yesterday.  Usually we celebrate Rosh Hashanah with family and friends: one night with Tuvia’s family, one night with my dad and usually one morning in the Hoboken Synagogue.   I don’t know that I’ve ever missed one of Hilda’s honey cake parties on the first day of the holiday, but yesterday we went rogue.

Tuvia was supposed to repeat a test but at the last minute,  just one hour before he was prepared to drink the “stuff” it was called off and instead, we had a quiet dinner together.

In the morning I was off to a meeting with Tom and Andrea, sharing ideas for this year at the Hudson Valley Writing Project.  Tuvia was on his own and he made it a great morning.  He got into his car for the first time in a month and drove to the post office came home, and then went back out for a hair cut.  Small things usually, but very big for him.  He took control and came back to himself without anyone’s permission.

When I got back we were off for a late lunch in Ridgewood.  The afternoon was glorious and we had the perfect spot- an outside restaurant, Mediterraneo filled with lovely memories.  No one anxious for our perfect table  at 2:30 in the afternoon, allowed us to linger over  red lentil soup, salad, pita, sorbet and coffee and a few casual iphone pictures.

Another day back to us, hey I even had a creative burst last night to create this piece from our Summer Institute in July.

I could get very used to this although,  as I finish this post at 5:35 am I’m hoping that Tuvia gets back to a more regular body clock and breakfast starts later than 3 for him.

2 thoughts

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"writing is the painting of the voice" -Voltaire-

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