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”
Three weeks, one day.
These days, I measure the passage of time based on my father’s passing. In these subsequent 22 days since his death, grief has taken its place in my life like a shadow. My only real reprieve is for a few hours of work each day when I’m so immersed in the crazy world of employee relations that I can compartmentalize my pain.
My dad died nine days ago after having suffered a massive stroke two days prior. He died in a hospital in southeastern Indiana while my connecting flight was sitting on the tarmac in Salt Lake City, getting ready to take off for Indianapolis.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.