We discovered a minor leak inside the Winnebago the day after Thanksgiving. It’s in the spot where the coach and the cab meet and it’s midway down in a corner area. Since we’ve only owned it for a month, even though it’s 12 years old, I was fairly dramatic about it. (“I can’t believe she’s leaking! I hope it’s okay! What if they can’t fix it? What if we’re left with nothing but a pile of rust and mold? Did we buy a lemon?!”) Continue reading “Leaking roofs, leaking eyes, and Christmas annoyances”
My dad believed in visitors from the afterlife. He was also a man of stories, and one of his frequent stories was a memory from when his younger brother, John, died as a teenager in the early 70s. The story goes like this: John was in his hospital bed, comatose in the very last minutes of life. My dad had rushed to his bedside from several hours north, barely making it in time. Right before John succumbed to cancer and died, my dad looked up and saw, floating near the ceiling in the corner of that hospital room, ethereal versions of his grandmother, grandfather, and an aunt. Dad said it was as if they were there to greet John’s spirit on the other side. Continue reading “Waiting”
These days, I spent most of my free time inside our motorhome. Sometimes I’m organizing or cleaning, but a lot of times, I’m just sitting on the sofa inside with my head thrown back and my eyes closed as I listen to the patter of the rain on the roof. (It’s pretty spectacular).
We took the motorhome aka the Winnebago aka the Aspect aka Gracie Rides Again aka the rig aka the RV out early Saturday morning just to drive it around. Continue reading “Livin’ the RV dream (kind of)”
We had a quiet but monumental moment in our home last weekend. After months of shopping and debating and being wishy-washy about styles and colors, I purchased a mezuzah and kosher scroll and installed them on the post of our front door.
In 2009, for a very brief amount of time, we were the proud owners of a vintage camper. She was a 1974 New Paris Traveler, 16 feet long, and she was a mess. Continue reading “Gracie Rides Again!”
Call me naïve, but I really thought that when I became Jewish, people would understand what that meant. Continue reading “Divergent journeys”
I love the Jewish High Holy Days. While we have a lot of holidays on the calendar, I’ve been practicing Judaism long enough to know that Yom Kippur is my favorite holiday. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, is joyful and celebratory, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is serious, somber, and breathtakingly powerful. This year was especially poignant because I attended the Yizkor service, which honors those who have died during the previous year and comforts those who are mourning.
Yom Kippur is about ensuring that we have righted our wrongs so that our names are inscribed in the Book of Life for another year. Continue reading “It’s hard to say goodbye to the High Holy Days”