Holy Moses, it’s almost 5772 and I haven’t made my honeycake yet!
Life been as twisty as a ram’s horn lately as I recover from another trip out West (Dad’s rehab is going well) and continue to find the groove at the new gig (I launched The Civil Society Column last week. Hope my Marxist feminist dialectic brings all the Southerners to the yard, yo.)
What this means is that the house has been lacking its hausfrau, the me who’s usually whistling around the kitchen on Erev Rosh Hashanah getting honey in my hair and burning things.
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