Holy moly, where do the days go?
I don't know where but the how lately has been divine--we've had three or four days now of surprisingly SoCal-like weather, sunny, 70s, dry and clear, with a lovely cool breeze. It's been an idyllic taste of a fantasy summer, with no humidity and very few insects. All we want to do is sit on the porch, look at the view, and sigh.
In spite of the paradise that surrounds me, though, I've been in a bit of a funk. It's not just the tease of the weather (yes, I know it will get cold again; the ground is likely to frost several more times, and neighbors knowingly warn us of past May snows.) That's not it. It's the holiday. We're used to celebrating Passover every year with our dear, dear friends. (Yes, we are godless and not Jewish. We like Passover. So sue.)
I miss brisket (which I wouldn't be eating these days anyway, thanks to my unbelievably strict, but making-me-feel-better diet) and tzimmes and matzoh ball soup and...ok, not gefilte fish; but we always had lovely sole instead, chez C & D.
One of my favorite pieces of (my own) writing celebrates Passover, our dear ones, and their awesome seders. It pretty much says it all. The only thing it doesn't say-- it sucks that we didn't get to do it this year.