Measured Extravagance

27 September 2003 - 7:30 a.m.

Kass recently mused on the nerve-wrackingness of preparing her remarks for erev Rosh Hashanah. To which, it being 6:16 a.m. as I type - it being a minute after I typed the last words to this Sunday's sermon - it being twenty-three hours since I was last in bed - yep. Nerves wracked to bolts and threads and back. A heartfelt, resounding "oy, amen." I'm sure she did fine. I suspect I'll do okay. (I suspect I should keep my mouth shut during today's board meeting, too. As I told my favorite wild-eyed schismatic a couple of days ago, there are times I want to wear a t-shirt declaring myself to be a "wild-eyed pragmatic," but I think this morning "wild-eyed" is going to outweigh "pragmatic" by six to one.)

That's assuming I can manage to keep the eyes open at all, of course. Sigh. I'd claim I don't know why I do this to myself, but given how lovely an evening I had, I'm glad I rushed around town and rushed through work and got myself to the synagogue by 6 and didn't get back to draft-hammering-out until much later. For a couple I hadn't seen since last fall invited me to dinner - apples and honey, pomegranates, raisin challah, stuffed squash, and pickled garlic from the legendary Elat Market in Los Angeles. That last item - addictive. Scary addictive. Another reason to visit Los Angeles (along the Getty, the Huntington, and a cousin). As I said to the others, "It's a good thing I already celebrated my wedding anniversary. . ." Dessert was Turkish coffee, raspberries, figs and honey mousse. And discussions about kashering dishes in the Sea of Galilee, rainproofing hats for trips to Ecuador, the naming of cats and how many yarmulkes to order for a mixed wedding. . . A sweet beginning to the year, indeed.

And, in the course of research, I came across The Yiddishkeit Code. Looks like the Buffy geek code is no longer online, though. Drat. I had a bet going with myself that it too contained any mention of sheep.

Yep. Okay. Naptime. Except I want a bath, and then some breakfast. This counting sheep away from bed will never do.

Three years ago, a list of pleasures.

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