So the Jewish New Year is upon us -- 5784. It'll probably be Passover, and I'll still be writing "5783" on my checks. Ah -- the Borscht Belt humor birthright in me never leaves.
Thursday night Mirta came by at 4, and we drove up to JMH and fetched Dr. Barry. Upon arriving at the stadium, I poured Barry and myself some Tito's, and we found Paul and Patricia and their group, and sort of crashed Pau's bro in law's friend Steve's tailgate. I titrated the precise amount of Tito's, and entered the stadium quite happy. I came to the sad conclusion that alcohol really makes the experience better -- the game the prior Saturday was more competitive and important than the Canes's thrashing of Bethune Cookman, but the alcohol made Thursday far more fun. Plus, Mirta was kind enough to drive us home.
Last night we drove up to D1's house, and played with the Best Baby in the World, as we have named our younger grandson, because he is. A total delight. His parents put him to bed, and left him with the nanny, and we drove the 3 minutes to Joey's parents' house, for their wonderful Rosh Hashonah dinner.
They're Sephardic, and our cousins of that stripe actually do a seder, or ordered dinner, for RH. And it was delightful, as we all took turns reading about praise for the Big Man, and how we hope to become better people this year.
Our older grandson played with his cousin, who is in kindergarten and loves him but is amusedly annoyed by him, too. Wifey spent a LOT of time with them -- talking to the little girl as our grandson interrupted.
On the drive up, Wifey fielded a call from her orthodox cousins -- from Baltimore. They keep in touch -- Wifey never calls them -- largely because of the family connection to my late suegra and her closeness with her brother -- the cousin's Dad.
The talk was nice, but also scolding, as Wifey said how much we were looking forward to "celebrating" the New Year. Not really, her cousin corrected -- other Jewish holidays are for celebrating -- Rosh Hashanah is a time more for reflection, and taking stock, and preparing for the coming Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.
Yeah -- that's why I could never join their club. Our Chabad friends, orthodox as well, emphasize the joy in every holiday -- that resonates much more with me.
Of course, this is a time for taking stock. Where are we going/ where have we been, as Joyce Carol Oates asked in her wonderful short story. But it's fine to celebrate, too, in my humble, non learned opinion.
D2 had some FOMO about last night. She went to Jonathan's family RH dinner, but missed us, too. So she asked if maybe we couldn't meet tonight for RH as well. Of course we could, and now have reservations at The Palm, for the 6 of us. As Joey and I agreed last night, the Palm is NEVER a bad idea.
So we'll be driving again to North Dade -- a late reservation, 8:15, in order to give D1 and Joey time to get the boys situated and sleeping with a sitter. Wifey and I agreed such a late dinner requires an afternoon nap today, which I plan to take as college football plays on TV.
There was a great essay the other day in the Times about RH. Indeed, the prayers remind us that as much as we plan, and hope to have long lives, often the Big Man cuts things short. Who shall die by fire? Who by water? Those prayer questions are the basis for the best Leonard Cohen song.
As long as we're here, I plan to emphasize the celebratory part of RH. But it's somehow comforting to know plenty of my brethren are covering the solemn, too. It's what makes for the great Jewish horse race.
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