Beans 'n' Cornbread
Husband and I did a three hour blues show today entitled Beans 'n' Cornbread. It's been far too long since we've tag-teamed on a blues show and we had a lovely time. In the past we've done a sort of "he said, she said" show where he'd play "she's a mean mistreater" songs and I'd play "he's a no good cheater" songs.
Today we just played straight up blues.
It reminded me of a road trip story from a few years ago.
I was driving across the state of Georgia alone on a business trip. Since I wasn't in a hurry, I took a lot of little back roads just for the heck of it. I found a kick-ass blues station and rocked along with the windows rolled down and my best Etta James voice filling the car. At one little hole-in-the wall one-horse town I stopped at this little grocery store for something to drink. There were these two ancient black guys sitting on rockers on the porch -- looking like a stereotype of old guys in a small southern town. Howlin' Wolf was singing one of my all-time favorite blues songs, Smokestack Lightning and I pulled up with the radio blaring. As I got out and walked into the store, one of the old guys drawled out in that syrup-slow accent of the true south "oooh, white girl likes the Wolf."
Yeah, white girl does like the Wolf.
Tomorrow Husband rocks the airwaves with a special entitled Big Bands and Bongos which is self-explanatory. Lots of mambos, lounge-fi, bachelor pad tunes. I can't wait.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Monday, June 06, 2011
Photo of the day: PIt Pup
Just in case you're sick of cute kittens I give you a cute puppy. This is one of a litter of four pit bull puppies that came in with mom. Each is cuter than the next, but this guy is a total flirt. He and his littermates were having a fine time playing tug of war with a chew toy and hanging out in the sunshine. But he came over immediately when I walked up to the kennel and said hi.
In other odd news we have a particularly annoying bird in our yard. He chirps all night long. Aren't birds supposed to shut up when the sun goes down? OK owls and nightingales get a pass. But this chirpy guy is a mockingbird with a huge repertoire and endless energy. As if it already wasn't hard enough for me to get to sleep I now have to deal with Mr. Chirpy and his endless songbook. Husband and I, both die-hard animal lovers, keep saying "shut up." But no...away he goes. I might find it endearing, at noon. But it's midnight and he's singing away.
Just in case you're sick of cute kittens I give you a cute puppy. This is one of a litter of four pit bull puppies that came in with mom. Each is cuter than the next, but this guy is a total flirt. He and his littermates were having a fine time playing tug of war with a chew toy and hanging out in the sunshine. But he came over immediately when I walked up to the kennel and said hi.
In other odd news we have a particularly annoying bird in our yard. He chirps all night long. Aren't birds supposed to shut up when the sun goes down? OK owls and nightingales get a pass. But this chirpy guy is a mockingbird with a huge repertoire and endless energy. As if it already wasn't hard enough for me to get to sleep I now have to deal with Mr. Chirpy and his endless songbook. Husband and I, both die-hard animal lovers, keep saying "shut up." But no...away he goes. I might find it endearing, at noon. But it's midnight and he's singing away.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Revisits
There are some movies I can watch hundreds of times. Some books I will read and reread on a regular basis. And some where once is enough.
It's not even a question of quality. My favorite fiction book ever is Possession by A.S. Byatt. I've only read it once and have no intention of picking up again. Perhaps I'm afraid it won't hold up or that my opinion will change. So maybe that's a bad example. But you know what I mean.
What is that elusive quality that makes something worth revisiting? Why is it whenever The Philadelphia Story is on I have to watch it, in spite of the fact that I can probably quote the entire movie? And yet I have to be in the mood to watch the delightful Hepburn-Tracy comedy Woman of the Year. I can pick up the Dorothy L. Sayers novel Gaudy Night on any day and happily open it an random and be entertained. And yet her equally good book Strong Poison requires the right frame of mind.
My "endless watch" list of movies is practically endless. Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, On the Town, To Have and Have Not, and any of the Star Wars, Indiana Jones, or James Bond movies. And about a dozen more, now that I think about it. There are even nights when I should be sleeping (or at least trying to sleep) and yet I'm staying up because I just have to see the end of a movie I've watched innumerable times. A few weeks ago I stayed up because The Big Sleep was on and I'm genetically incapable of turning off that particular Bogart classic.
And when I'm prowling around looking for something to read, my hand naturally goes to the old favorites. I might pick up something I haven't read for a while and, without fail, I'll put it down and pick up Murder on the Orient Express for the hundredth time. Why is that?
There is certainly comfort with an old favorite. A level of brainless relaxation that is, at times, necessary. But it's still odd how often I go with the familiar rather than the different.
There are some movies I can watch hundreds of times. Some books I will read and reread on a regular basis. And some where once is enough.
It's not even a question of quality. My favorite fiction book ever is Possession by A.S. Byatt. I've only read it once and have no intention of picking up again. Perhaps I'm afraid it won't hold up or that my opinion will change. So maybe that's a bad example. But you know what I mean.
What is that elusive quality that makes something worth revisiting? Why is it whenever The Philadelphia Story is on I have to watch it, in spite of the fact that I can probably quote the entire movie? And yet I have to be in the mood to watch the delightful Hepburn-Tracy comedy Woman of the Year. I can pick up the Dorothy L. Sayers novel Gaudy Night on any day and happily open it an random and be entertained. And yet her equally good book Strong Poison requires the right frame of mind.
My "endless watch" list of movies is practically endless. Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, On the Town, To Have and Have Not, and any of the Star Wars, Indiana Jones, or James Bond movies. And about a dozen more, now that I think about it. There are even nights when I should be sleeping (or at least trying to sleep) and yet I'm staying up because I just have to see the end of a movie I've watched innumerable times. A few weeks ago I stayed up because The Big Sleep was on and I'm genetically incapable of turning off that particular Bogart classic.
And when I'm prowling around looking for something to read, my hand naturally goes to the old favorites. I might pick up something I haven't read for a while and, without fail, I'll put it down and pick up Murder on the Orient Express for the hundredth time. Why is that?
There is certainly comfort with an old favorite. A level of brainless relaxation that is, at times, necessary. But it's still odd how often I go with the familiar rather than the different.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Why didn't they all die?
By which I mean the pioneers. I'm re-reading the Little House on the Prairie books, which I haven't read since I was a kid. Back then I was just interested in them as a story and I think I viewed them rather like fairy tales. But now I'm reading about how hard their lives were and I am astounded that the entire generation didn't just curl up and die. Or freeze to death. Or starve. Or collapse from exhaustion.
I remember back when I was employed (well, employed for money) how I'd come home from working all day in front of a computer and feel tired. But these people slaved away at manual labor from before dawn until after dark. They plowed and planted, hoed and weeded, harvested, chopped, butchered, trapped, baked, scrubbed, you name it. And they were happy at the end of the day with a little fiddle music and some dried plums. Christmas meant a tin cup and two pieces of Christmas candy and they were thrilled.
How spoiled we've become. I was just feeling tired about doing laundry. Oh yes, how hard it is to carry a basket from the bedroom to the garage. How in the world would I have managed filling a tub from a well, scrubbing with my cold hands, hanging heavy woolen clothing on a line to freeze in the winter chill and then spending the entire next day ironing? The answer is, I wouldn't. I'm a wimp, I admit it. I am so thankful to be living in a world with dishwashers and central heating, TV and grocery stores.
When I read the accounts of how the Ingalls family lived I cannot help but shake my head. It all seems impossibly hard to my spoiled 21st century self. I suppose if that's all you know it seems normal but the amount of work involved in just getting from day to day boggles the mind.
So how about you? Would you have made it as a pioneer?
By which I mean the pioneers. I'm re-reading the Little House on the Prairie books, which I haven't read since I was a kid. Back then I was just interested in them as a story and I think I viewed them rather like fairy tales. But now I'm reading about how hard their lives were and I am astounded that the entire generation didn't just curl up and die. Or freeze to death. Or starve. Or collapse from exhaustion.
I remember back when I was employed (well, employed for money) how I'd come home from working all day in front of a computer and feel tired. But these people slaved away at manual labor from before dawn until after dark. They plowed and planted, hoed and weeded, harvested, chopped, butchered, trapped, baked, scrubbed, you name it. And they were happy at the end of the day with a little fiddle music and some dried plums. Christmas meant a tin cup and two pieces of Christmas candy and they were thrilled.
How spoiled we've become. I was just feeling tired about doing laundry. Oh yes, how hard it is to carry a basket from the bedroom to the garage. How in the world would I have managed filling a tub from a well, scrubbing with my cold hands, hanging heavy woolen clothing on a line to freeze in the winter chill and then spending the entire next day ironing? The answer is, I wouldn't. I'm a wimp, I admit it. I am so thankful to be living in a world with dishwashers and central heating, TV and grocery stores.
When I read the accounts of how the Ingalls family lived I cannot help but shake my head. It all seems impossibly hard to my spoiled 21st century self. I suppose if that's all you know it seems normal but the amount of work involved in just getting from day to day boggles the mind.
So how about you? Would you have made it as a pioneer?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tails from the Kitten Nursery
We're only a few weeks into kitten season and already the nursery is full up. We have 24 residents, including one litter of nine. All these hungry mouths keeps us hopping and our regular 2-hour shift regularly becomes a 3-hour shift.
Most people think working in the nursery is non-stop fun. And it is, for the most part. But it's also a lot of work. Kittens don't always cooperate with you trying to feed them and I currently sport a left wrist full of scratches from one little guy who objected to my teaching him how to poop. Yup, you have to teach kittens how to go to the bathroom. Not how to use their litter box -- they figure that out on their own eventually. No, you have to teach them actually how to pee and poop. You rub a moist cotton ball on their little butts and hope for the best. The kittens, naturally, hate this and it's not uncommon to get scratched or bit.
Kitten claws are like tiny needles and, at the moment, I look like a junkie (according to Husband).
But then you get to look at little faces like this and that makes all the scratches painless. It's still a lot of work to clean the cages, restock the supplies, take the laundry and garbage out and replace the towels, mop the floor, scrub the tables, etc. But knowing that we're helping these guys have a chance at a good life makes all the difference in the world.
I love my job.
We're only a few weeks into kitten season and already the nursery is full up. We have 24 residents, including one litter of nine. All these hungry mouths keeps us hopping and our regular 2-hour shift regularly becomes a 3-hour shift.
Most people think working in the nursery is non-stop fun. And it is, for the most part. But it's also a lot of work. Kittens don't always cooperate with you trying to feed them and I currently sport a left wrist full of scratches from one little guy who objected to my teaching him how to poop. Yup, you have to teach kittens how to go to the bathroom. Not how to use their litter box -- they figure that out on their own eventually. No, you have to teach them actually how to pee and poop. You rub a moist cotton ball on their little butts and hope for the best. The kittens, naturally, hate this and it's not uncommon to get scratched or bit.
Kitten claws are like tiny needles and, at the moment, I look like a junkie (according to Husband).
But then you get to look at little faces like this and that makes all the scratches painless. It's still a lot of work to clean the cages, restock the supplies, take the laundry and garbage out and replace the towels, mop the floor, scrub the tables, etc. But knowing that we're helping these guys have a chance at a good life makes all the difference in the world.
I love my job.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Photos of the day: More from the Nursery
In spite of the fact that kitten season has barely begun, we are already playing to packed houses in the nursery. Currently we have more than 20 residents, including one litter of nine (Nine!) kittens. The two shown here are from two different kennels. The little gray with the unfocused eyes is about two weeks old and is named Simon. The little tabby shares space with her four siblings and has mastered the art of charming everyone she meets. Today is going to be extra busy. THere are only two volunteers today so we're going to have our hands full.
In spite of the fact that kitten season has barely begun, we are already playing to packed houses in the nursery. Currently we have more than 20 residents, including one litter of nine (Nine!) kittens. The two shown here are from two different kennels. The little gray with the unfocused eyes is about two weeks old and is named Simon. The little tabby shares space with her four siblings and has mastered the art of charming everyone she meets. Today is going to be extra busy. THere are only two volunteers today so we're going to have our hands full.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Eight Things You Didn't Know You Wanted To Know
The lovely and talented Kittie Howard (author of a wonderful blog that I adore), tagged me to answer eight questions. I love a good challenge...
1. If you could go back in time and relive one moment, what would it be?
- I'd go to the last time I saw my best friend before he died of AIDS so that I could hug him one last time.
2. If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?
- I'd push HItler's mother out a window before she could reproduce.
3. What movie/TV character do you most resemble in personality?
- I can't think of any movie or TV characters but I've always felt a connection with the character of Harriet Vane, the mystery writer created by Dorothy L. Sayers.
4. If you could push one person off a cliff and get away with it, who would it be?
- Michael Vick
5. Name one habit you want to change in yourself.
- I'd like to stop being an insomniac. But that's not really a habit.
6. Describe yourself in one word.
- Weird
7. Describe the person who named you in this meme in one word.
Creative
8. Why do you blog? Answer in one sentence.
Because I have so many words in my head that if I don't let them out I get cranky.
The lovely and talented Kittie Howard (author of a wonderful blog that I adore), tagged me to answer eight questions. I love a good challenge...
1. If you could go back in time and relive one moment, what would it be?
- I'd go to the last time I saw my best friend before he died of AIDS so that I could hug him one last time.
2. If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?
- I'd push HItler's mother out a window before she could reproduce.
3. What movie/TV character do you most resemble in personality?
- I can't think of any movie or TV characters but I've always felt a connection with the character of Harriet Vane, the mystery writer created by Dorothy L. Sayers.
4. If you could push one person off a cliff and get away with it, who would it be?
- Michael Vick
5. Name one habit you want to change in yourself.
- I'd like to stop being an insomniac. But that's not really a habit.
6. Describe yourself in one word.
- Weird
7. Describe the person who named you in this meme in one word.
Creative
8. Why do you blog? Answer in one sentence.
Because I have so many words in my head that if I don't let them out I get cranky.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
To Shop or Not
You know those women whose hobby is shopping? The kind with the "I'd rather be at Nordstrom" bumper stickers? Yeah, that's not me.
I hate to shop. With two exceptions. I cannot get out of a book or a record store empty handed. In fact I'm lucky if I get out for under $50.
But for everything else, I hate it. I hate trying on clothes and think that the whole process is like some sort of medieval torture. The act of looking at yourself in your underwear under flourescent light is just plan evil. I hate getting dressed and undressed and tying an d untying my shoes just because women's clothing designers can't agree on exactly what size a 10 is. Or whether a large is actually and extra large and the medium is large.
Men have it easy. You want a shirt? You go by neck and arm size. For women you have to try everything on because nothing is the same. I have three different sizes of jeans in my closet, from three different makers, and all of them fit. Why is it so bloody difficult to buy clothes? Maybe most women do enjoy the process of shopping but for me it's hell. I tend to buy everything at one time just to get it over with, but then everything wears out at the same time. At the moment I think I have three pairs of socks because in the past month I keep getting holes. So I'll have to eventually break down and hit the store and stock up.
I've always been like that. I was never one of those teenagers who hung out at the mall. (Except for Mrs. Field's cookies.) I've never shopped for fun, only because I get cold when I'm naked. (And the neighbors object.) And my regular "uniform" is jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters.
What amuses me is that Husband is totally dapper. He wears bow ties to work every day. And hats. Not baseball caps, but actual hats. He's stylish and cool and there I am, the slob in the jeans. Luckily he loves me anyway.
But to anyone who shops for fun I have to ask....why? What is it about it that you enjoy? Is it some kind of imprinted hunter-gathering thing? Instead of berries and mastodons you look for shoes and designer knock-offs?
You know those women whose hobby is shopping? The kind with the "I'd rather be at Nordstrom" bumper stickers? Yeah, that's not me.
I hate to shop. With two exceptions. I cannot get out of a book or a record store empty handed. In fact I'm lucky if I get out for under $50.
But for everything else, I hate it. I hate trying on clothes and think that the whole process is like some sort of medieval torture. The act of looking at yourself in your underwear under flourescent light is just plan evil. I hate getting dressed and undressed and tying an d untying my shoes just because women's clothing designers can't agree on exactly what size a 10 is. Or whether a large is actually and extra large and the medium is large.
Men have it easy. You want a shirt? You go by neck and arm size. For women you have to try everything on because nothing is the same. I have three different sizes of jeans in my closet, from three different makers, and all of them fit. Why is it so bloody difficult to buy clothes? Maybe most women do enjoy the process of shopping but for me it's hell. I tend to buy everything at one time just to get it over with, but then everything wears out at the same time. At the moment I think I have three pairs of socks because in the past month I keep getting holes. So I'll have to eventually break down and hit the store and stock up.
I've always been like that. I was never one of those teenagers who hung out at the mall. (Except for Mrs. Field's cookies.) I've never shopped for fun, only because I get cold when I'm naked. (And the neighbors object.) And my regular "uniform" is jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters.
What amuses me is that Husband is totally dapper. He wears bow ties to work every day. And hats. Not baseball caps, but actual hats. He's stylish and cool and there I am, the slob in the jeans. Luckily he loves me anyway.
But to anyone who shops for fun I have to ask....why? What is it about it that you enjoy? Is it some kind of imprinted hunter-gathering thing? Instead of berries and mastodons you look for shoes and designer knock-offs?
Friday, May 13, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The Steves
This is the anniversary of the day I lost my best friend, the brother of my heart, Steve. And then two years and two days later, we lost his partner, Stephen. AIDS took both of them.
Known collectively as "the Steves" these two men were two of the most beautiful people I've every known. And I miss them every day. Every single day.
Steve was a shining man. He always had a smile and never had his wallet. In all the years of our friendship it seems every time we met for lunch or dinner, I paid because he'd left his wallet at home. And it wasn't a scam -- he was just that forgetful.
He never seemed to make it through a meal without spilling something. And he was so gorgeous that people's heads would actually turn when he walked into a room. He was a model for a while, so my opinion that he was gorgeous isn't just love talking. He really was.
His laugh was infectious. Sadly, so was the disease that killed him.
Looking back over my life, Steve is the one who had the most profound affect on me. It was Steve who first loved me unconditionally. Steve who made me feel accepted for who I was. Growing up in a family where I was always the odd one out, finding this level of love staggered me.
We met in high school. I was a senior, he was a freshman. We were both in the marching band and just became friends. We hung out, went to movies, ate a lot of hamburgers. We cut class to see Alien and screamed through the whole thing. We went to midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and dressed up like the characters. We saw each other through bad haircuts, bad breakups, and bad apartments. We helped each other move. We bought each other presents. And we never felt like a new relationship was really serious unless we got the other's approval of our new boyfriend.
I can't believe I'm married to a man who never met Steve. It seems unbelievable to me. Here are the two men who meant the most to me and they're separated by the veil of death. When I married my first husband, Steve was by my side as Man of Honor. He and my ex were dear friends and my ex was part of the group that cared for Steve when he was dying. But the fact that Husband never met Steve still surprises me. Sometimes I'll catch myself saying "remember when we went camping in Yosemite?" only to recall that Husband wasn't there. It seems wrong that they don't share the same memories.
In the years since we lost the Steves my wonderful circle of friends, who are my family in all ways but blood, has stayed intact. I'm still friends with my ex. The core group who cared for these two wonderful men are still in my life -- thank god. And whenever I'm around them I'm reminded of how lucky I am to have these people in my world.
But there will always be a Steve-shaped hole in my heart.
Hug someone today and tell them that you love them.
This is the anniversary of the day I lost my best friend, the brother of my heart, Steve. And then two years and two days later, we lost his partner, Stephen. AIDS took both of them.
Known collectively as "the Steves" these two men were two of the most beautiful people I've every known. And I miss them every day. Every single day.
Steve was a shining man. He always had a smile and never had his wallet. In all the years of our friendship it seems every time we met for lunch or dinner, I paid because he'd left his wallet at home. And it wasn't a scam -- he was just that forgetful.
He never seemed to make it through a meal without spilling something. And he was so gorgeous that people's heads would actually turn when he walked into a room. He was a model for a while, so my opinion that he was gorgeous isn't just love talking. He really was.
His laugh was infectious. Sadly, so was the disease that killed him.
Looking back over my life, Steve is the one who had the most profound affect on me. It was Steve who first loved me unconditionally. Steve who made me feel accepted for who I was. Growing up in a family where I was always the odd one out, finding this level of love staggered me.
We met in high school. I was a senior, he was a freshman. We were both in the marching band and just became friends. We hung out, went to movies, ate a lot of hamburgers. We cut class to see Alien and screamed through the whole thing. We went to midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and dressed up like the characters. We saw each other through bad haircuts, bad breakups, and bad apartments. We helped each other move. We bought each other presents. And we never felt like a new relationship was really serious unless we got the other's approval of our new boyfriend.
I can't believe I'm married to a man who never met Steve. It seems unbelievable to me. Here are the two men who meant the most to me and they're separated by the veil of death. When I married my first husband, Steve was by my side as Man of Honor. He and my ex were dear friends and my ex was part of the group that cared for Steve when he was dying. But the fact that Husband never met Steve still surprises me. Sometimes I'll catch myself saying "remember when we went camping in Yosemite?" only to recall that Husband wasn't there. It seems wrong that they don't share the same memories.
In the years since we lost the Steves my wonderful circle of friends, who are my family in all ways but blood, has stayed intact. I'm still friends with my ex. The core group who cared for these two wonderful men are still in my life -- thank god. And whenever I'm around them I'm reminded of how lucky I am to have these people in my world.
But there will always be a Steve-shaped hole in my heart.
Hug someone today and tell them that you love them.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Photos of the day: The Patriarch and the New Kid
The SF Zoo has a nice large enclosure for their family of gorillas. The silverback patriarch has been a fixture for years and is the model of "you don't want to mess with this." The new kid is 2-years old and loves to sit at the top of trees and be tall.
The SF Zoo has a nice large enclosure for their family of gorillas. The silverback patriarch has been a fixture for years and is the model of "you don't want to mess with this." The new kid is 2-years old and loves to sit at the top of trees and be tall.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Photo of the day: Presenting
Husband took a few days off of work and we played tourist in the Bay Area. One of our stops was at the SF Zoo where it is, apparently, peacock mating season. Every male peacock in the place (and there are dozens of them) was showing off his finery hoping to attract the ladies (of which we saw exactly one). Anyway, this guy was strutting around by the rhino pen. Good luck Mr. Peacock.
Husband took a few days off of work and we played tourist in the Bay Area. One of our stops was at the SF Zoo where it is, apparently, peacock mating season. Every male peacock in the place (and there are dozens of them) was showing off his finery hoping to attract the ladies (of which we saw exactly one). Anyway, this guy was strutting around by the rhino pen. Good luck Mr. Peacock.
From the Kitten Nursery
The kitten nursery opened this week and we've already got a full house. It promises to be a busy season and we hope to beat last year's record of 97 kittens through the nursery and into happy homes. I'll be leading the Monday and Friday lunch shifts through October so you can look forward to lots and lots of cute kitten pix.
The kitten nursery opened this week and we've already got a full house. It promises to be a busy season and we hope to beat last year's record of 97 kittens through the nursery and into happy homes. I'll be leading the Monday and Friday lunch shifts through October so you can look forward to lots and lots of cute kitten pix.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Friends and Faith
This past Saturday Husband and I attended a Passover Seder hosted by one of our dearest friends. There were about 20 people, 6 of them children. The total number of Jewish person's present was about 2 1/2. It was not, to say the least, an orthodox Seder.
What it was, however, was lovely.
Many people feel that religion is, in a large part, about community. And that night we were a community of friends. Of course there was delicious food and a chance to learn about a faith other than our own. But it was mostly about celebrating freedom and the right to be different, but accepting.
In our midst were perhaps a half-dozen languages. So our beautiful hostess printed out part of the Seder ceremony in these languages and they were read, in Hungarian, Arabic, Chinese, Latin, Old English, and Swedish. We took turns going around the table reading from the Haggadah and going through the rituals. And we laughed and shared a wonderful evening with amazing people.
I have often said that my friends are my family. And on Saturday night I was surrounded by family. There was love and silliness. There was beauty and grace. There was respect and sharing. The lunacy was represented by the infamous "Ten Plagues of Egypt Finger Puppets" (I was death of the firstborn) and the dancing Matzo Man. But it was a lovely night and I felt honestly honored to be included among such a fascinating and fabulous group of people.
Thanks to the Lurker for a wonderful, memorable evening. I love you.
This past Saturday Husband and I attended a Passover Seder hosted by one of our dearest friends. There were about 20 people, 6 of them children. The total number of Jewish person's present was about 2 1/2. It was not, to say the least, an orthodox Seder.
What it was, however, was lovely.
Many people feel that religion is, in a large part, about community. And that night we were a community of friends. Of course there was delicious food and a chance to learn about a faith other than our own. But it was mostly about celebrating freedom and the right to be different, but accepting.
In our midst were perhaps a half-dozen languages. So our beautiful hostess printed out part of the Seder ceremony in these languages and they were read, in Hungarian, Arabic, Chinese, Latin, Old English, and Swedish. We took turns going around the table reading from the Haggadah and going through the rituals. And we laughed and shared a wonderful evening with amazing people.
I have often said that my friends are my family. And on Saturday night I was surrounded by family. There was love and silliness. There was beauty and grace. There was respect and sharing. The lunacy was represented by the infamous "Ten Plagues of Egypt Finger Puppets" (I was death of the firstborn) and the dancing Matzo Man. But it was a lovely night and I felt honestly honored to be included among such a fascinating and fabulous group of people.
Thanks to the Lurker for a wonderful, memorable evening. I love you.
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