Pass The Yoch

We're not this together

At last night's premature seder, Elijah was a no-show, no doubt because he'd heard about our shameful, highly-truncated rendering of the Haggadah. Those who favor authenticity do better elsewhere.  Take the religious gal, briefly married to someone at the table who shall remain nameless (my brother-in-law).  Years ago, she had the misfortune of attending one of our seders.  "I'm never coming back here again," she said, and ran screaming from the house. We haven't seen her since. Despite the loose Evelyn Wood interpretation, the food is beyond delish, and the best part is, you're so full, you don't have to eat again till next Passover.  Another benefit is the lively conversation, which ping pongs back and forth, covering a wide variety of topics.  Last night, we touched on gefilte fish yoch (what is it?), we made a big tsimmis over the tsimmis, sang the "All in the Family" theme song and the SJG performed "The Dance of the Macaroons."  All in all, a typical Passover.  This morning, the college boy wandered home from Coachella, dirty and sunburned.  "Where are your glasses?" I asked.  The youngest tends to lose expensive items.  "Oh sh*t," he said.  A flurry of text messages commenced.  The glasses will be retrieved later, supposedly.  As for the SJG's sense of calm and well-being:  lurking beneath the yoch till further notice.