Not quite as planned

Sunday night. When the specter of the coming week floats through the wall and buggers you with images of traffic jams, printer jams, pointless meetings, laddered pantyhose, the impossible expectation of being in two places at once and a coffee stain on your right boob?

Last Sunday wasn't like that at all. Instead, I was giddily naming the things I would do with my last week of not working. I had plans.Writing. Reading. Finishing an editing job that I lost when I washed my jump drive. Lolling around, sleeping in, long afternoon naps in between watching Netflix and AcornTV until my eyeballs dried out.

And since my first week on the job means a week of member meetings where I'll be cloistered at a hotel and not be at the beck and call of the America aristocracy who've become all too accustomed to having an entire Downtown downstairs staff rolled into one woman, I'd planned to get things arranged so that MathMan, the kids and cats won't be reduced to making meals out of the remains at the bottom of a jar of olives and some three-year-old cookie mix*.

Then everything went all Robert Burns. Or Steinbeck, if you will. And no one even got laid.

I won't bore you with the details, but holy servants' bells, how did it get to be Friday Saturday already?

I decided there was no point in fighting it. It was best to keep calm and ...... bake challah?

Ingrediments. If you know Jack Benny, you get this joke.

Chloe doing the necessary kneading.

Sophie with her finished braid.

Chloe learning how to braid.

Egg washed, ready to go in the oven.

Fresh from the oven.

Enjoying the fruits of her labor.

What's new with you? What have you in the oven? Favorite bread recipes? Bets on how next week goes?


*Mostly a lie. They'd just eat fast food all week.

Why Is This Night...

A lifetime ago, this would have been a day when we were either helping with, hindering, heading up or bitching about (perhaps all of the above) preparations for the evening's Passover Seder. Since moving to Georgia, however, we've all but ignored the holiday.

Not so this year, but barely. Yesterday on our way to buy some groceries, MathMan asked if we should actually hold a sort of Seder today. I concurred, but that was before I knew that a trip to the grocery store would invite my fever to come back and knock me on my ass again.

So we have our brisket (I'll be using this recipe), makings for matzo ball soup, matzo crackers, parsley, horseradish and MathMan even made the Charoset, but we won't hold our Seder tonight after all. Ah well. It gives me more time to print off a Hagaddah since the only one I could find in our local library was one that was written from a Mystic slant. And (bonus), Chloe is coming home on Friday so she can join us when we sit down and retell the story of the Jews' release from slavery on Friday.

For those of you celebrating properly, may you enjoy a Pesach full of family, friends and tender brisket. May no one spill their wine when their not supposed to, may Elijah close the door behind him, and last but certainly not least, may you run over the six year old to find the Afikomen and collect a fiver from your cheap Uncle Morty.

L'chaim.