New Year


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September. Elul.

Children back in school, since before Labor Day, which is some sort of obscene perversion, that we all put up with form some strange reason. The lawn is a riot of different species, while my neighbor spends hundreds if not thousands on the boring monoculture of something as uninteresting as fescue, or bluegrass, or whatever it is they waste drinking water on. Not on my property. Glad there is no property owner’s association.

Hurricanes. Summer starting to die, and the prospect of another long New England winter lies ahead.

President ends DACA, pardons Arpaio, threatens nuclear war, while life proceeds with the torpor of normality. The dog is an excuse to get out of the house for a walk, the cats view the world from the windows, just feet from a bird who must know that eating the pokeweed berries is safe, a screen keeping the cats at bay. NPR on the radio too much, I have to do something about that.

Jewish New Year about to arrive. Even though mostly stripped of the religious trappings, the imprint of the years and the habit of intense self-reflection, with all of its painful realizations, ameliorated by going to spend time with family, my 1,000-mile distant support system.

 

 

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