Monday, September 14, 2015

l'shanah tovah

It's the first night of Rosh Hashanah. 

Alexander and I take the train up to Rye to go to Jill's, Abbey's sister's house. The train is crowded, and the woman sitting in front of us makes one phone call after another. Saturday (by Ian McEwan) is not an easy read, and this woman's mindless chatter is a big distraction. I  say nothing as I don't want to incur my son's wrath. Instead, I move my seat, and Alexander and I sit separately on the ride up to Westchester. 

By the time we arrive, everyone else is already there.  An appealing spread of chopped liver, crackers, sliced vegetables, dips, mini-hot dogs, and drinks await us. I eat more than I should.


Dinner is matzo ball soup, followed by a spinach soufflé, asparagus, candied yams, steak, and chicken. Dessert includes an array of so many things that the apple pie never even gets cut. I have two slices (albeit small ones) of my favorite 7-layer cake from Wall's.


I take some pictures but have to promise everyone that I won't post them. So here are two of the guests; only one of whom approved this photo.



I get home, and my stomach rebels against all the rich food.

I call my sister this morning and tell her. I'm almost certain it's not a stomach virus, but I can't be 100% sure. No one wants to take any chances.

So tonight, instead of celebrating a wonderful second night with family, Alexander and I have our own small dinner. It's not nearly as nice as the one we are missing. And not nearly as fun. But we don't have to worry about what to wear. I can show up in comfortable shoes.  And it's a a quick, crowd less, phone-less commute home.


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