A 2nd Pandemic Passover Poem

Got a brisket right there in the oven,

Heatin' it slowly, givin' it some lovin'.

Carrots and onions, ketchup and red wine, 

Pray my big ticket brisket sure tastes fine.

Made a gluten-free kugel, oy gevalt,

If it's too gooey, gonna be my fault.

Pandemic Passover a second time,

A two-minute Haggadah ain't no crime.

Elijah may come, Elijah may go,

Hope he's vaccinated, you never know.

I Can't Wait To Forget

This New Yorker cartoon posted today on Instagram really hit home. The past year has been a learning curve, teaching me things about myself, some good, some not so great. Take an impatient SJG and ramp that up by a thousand. That's me during quarantine, restless, testy, foggy-brained, wondering where I left my phone or the TV remote, and what's the name of that actor or the title of the book I just read or that darkly violent Dutch/German/Spanish/Israeli series I never would've watched pre-pandemic, but now can't stop bingeing? Like everyone, I miss my beloved routine. Going to the gym. Taking a dance class. Popping by the market on a whim. My happy places, my personal holy lands. First-world problems, I know, but they haunt me just the same. Loss is loss. Yours, mind and ours. This past year, there's been plenty to go around. Whether my old routine will return in some reedited version gives me hope. 

Still, I've found new routines. Zoom Yoga twice a week, during which Sir Blakey barks throughout, hovers over me, licks my face, exits and returns two seconds later to make sure I'm still there on the mat, repeating, "This too shall pass" between soothing breaths. Early Monday morning visits where I have the market to myself and follow a list, religiously, so I don't have to go back till the following Monday. Nightly cooking sessions with longtime hubby as my sous-chef. Give the man an assignment that involves chopping and out come the fancy knives and unbridled glee. I've never cooked this much before and have the burn marks to prove it. Endless, hilarious hours with our tiny bubble of millennials. Babysitting the granddaughter who brings more joy than I ever thought possible. And while I wouldn't mind forgetting a lot about the past year, I'll always treasure the surprising and magical times, the resilience I mustered, the fears I set aside, the books and music, family and friends that made it all manageable. One day, maybe sooner than I expected, life as we once knew it will return, in updated packaging. Whatever comes next, I'm ready to take notes and learn about the latest new normal.