His memory is a blessing...

All that's missing is his hat.

I got many things from my Dad: my curly hair, my love of sports, my taste for whiskey, my appreciation of silly jokes and my optimistic outlook. Oh, and my penchant to don a hat.

Rarely seen outside without one, Dad’s hat of choice was usually a cowboy hat. To go with his cowboy boots of course, and his love of the Southwestern landscape.

In some ways, Dad was born about 90 years too late... But he wasn’t particularly fond of horseback riding and he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the Marx Brothers, Abbott and Costello or the Dead End Kids. So instead, he was the littlest – best dressed – cowpoke East of the Mississippi.

But he wouldn’t have just missed out on the comedy … there was the music. Music that filled our house – and car – by radio or recording … Classical. Jazz. Big band. And opera. Dad’s music was the soundtrack of our childhood.

When the opportunity presented itself a few years ago, Dad actually stepped onto the opera stage… We referred to his performances as “Mike in Tights” because yes, he did wear tights one year. Ah, if only Dad could sing! Good thing that as a silent extra he didn’t have to. But we all knew he was humming along.

Dad enjoyed tradition and created some that became routine.

Whenever Nat King Cole came on the radio, he’d say: That man could sing the basketball scores from the Sunday paper and it’d be a hit!

When the freight train would rumble by the baseball fields during one of my guys’ games he’d check the time on his watch and invariably say: The 2:15 or the 5:20 or the 11:13 – right on time! Dad had such an effect on people that my friends would say it even on the rare occasion Dad didn’t make it to a game.

And one of Mark’s and my favorite traditions happened at breakfast on Sunday mornings…When we were all served, Dad would make sure he had two extra pieces of bacon…and when only the eggs were left on our plates and all we wanted was another piece of bacon, Dad would hand us each one of the ‘extra’ pieces from his plate. I don’t know how old I was when I realized he took more just so he could give us that treat, but I was old.

That was Dad. He had a particular knack to make everyone around him feel special.

And while some would say I got my easy smile from him, no one’s smile came easier or brighter than Dad’s. It was a beacon of friendship, kindness, caring and goodness. And with it, he told the world: Join me and we’ll get through it together.

Flashing that grin, Dad made friends – true, heartfelt friends – everywhere he went: the local bakery, the bank, the café and yes, even the hospital, where he’d chat on end with the receptionists before AND after going to rehab. He was so important to them that they took good care to ease our visits during these past months and we’re grateful.

I’m not going to tell you how much Dad loved each of you. You already know because he told you each time you were together. It was in his firm handshake; his tight hug; his tender kiss.

It was in his eyes Saturday evening when I told him he made the sun shine in my life and that I am who I am because of him…

…All our lives have been richer and sweeter having known him.


To celebrate my father and one of his favorite treats, here's a link to the previously posted Ebinger's Blackout Cake.

The tenth good thing about Sizzle

Sizzle, when he joined our family

I suppose it's serendipitous that more than 16 years ago, when we presented Dill with three choices with which to name our first cat, he chose the one that's also a cooking term: Sizzle. That's not why he picked it, of course. I think he liked the spunk of the eponymous cat puppet on TV and it was fun to say for an almost 3-year-old.

For a loooooong time, Sizz lived up to his namesake's spunk ... even when we moved (and he spent an hour in his litterbox before venturing out to explore) and when we rocked his kitty world by adopting Austen (our second cat, a rather large ginger tom fluff-ball who once prompted the exclamation: What is that?) ... but every sizzle starts to fizzle, and our guy began to decline about a year and a half ago when he developed thyroid disease. Six weeks ago, Sizz went from bad to worse with a limp-causing, fast-growing lump on his knee...and we began the process of saying good-bye.

Big sigh. I believe Sizzy's mournful wails warned the Banshees that he wasn't ready. And despite his making garbage of three gorgeous wool area rugs, I wasn't either.

Our mornings start with a vocal greeting from Sizz and Austy at the bedroom door to make sure we know they want fresh food and water. I don't know how Sizzy got up the stairs the past two weeks, but I cuddled his ailing body on the way down. And our evenings begin with him circling the kitchen island as I cook and he M'ows for wet food or as we call it, crack. Then there're the second dinners and the thirds. I pamper him with thawed tiny shrimp for the last one.

When people say "you'll know when it's time," you will. And it's scary. Dill realized he wouldn't see Sizzy again, so he made his peace before returning to school. But I kept looking for signs; though for me they were too gradual to discern.

Until yesterday. I realized he hadn't moved much from the heating grate in the kitchen, so I brought some of his favorite shrimp to him... He ate most of it, then lost all interest. Late afternoon, other things told me it was time, so I rang the vet to make arrangements. We discussed this as a family, but I was elected to be the sole human to accompany Sizz. So I swaddled him like a baby in an old towel, packed up a couple shrimp in case he ... oh, I don't know ... I'm a Jewish mother who tries to be prepared for anything... and gently laid him on the front seat with the warmer on and drove to the vet; one hand on the wheel and one on his cheek.

It was quiet; it was quick and I was home within the hour.

This is the first time I had to do anything like this... and pardon the pun, but I'm kind of at a loss... I'm not a huge animal lover, but my cats became more than 'living furniture.' They wove into the fabric of our family. As a sleeping pre-schooler, Dill exclaimed: No Sizzul, I don't wantamawy you. And Jere was struck by the fact that within their same 16 years, Sizz was at the end of his life while he was approaching the prime of his youth.

Throughout this passage, I kept thinking about Judith Viorst's story, The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, where a boy's mother suggests he create this list about his cat who just died as a way of dealing with his sadness. So, in no particular order, here are the 10 Good Things About Sizzle:

* He was our family's Alpha Male.
* He was more dog than cat, greeting us at the door and telling us when it was food time.
* He never brought home gifts of maimed birds or rodents.
* He lived in harmony with the boys' pet mouse and guinea pig.
* He came when we called for him and replied when we M'owed to him.
* He didn't mind when I affectionately started calling him "Old Man."
* He nipped at our heels as we climbed the stairs.
* He nipped at our hair from the back of the couch.
* He was very social.
* He showed his affection by pressing his forehead against mine, a kitty head bump.

So to celebrate Sizz, here's a recipe featuring his favorite food: Shrimp.

Details?
Here goes:

-In a bowl, combine 1 T olive oil, chiffonade (thin ribbons) of 10 or so basil leaves, zest and juice of 2 limes, 2 thinly sliced garlic cloves, 1 and a half long hot peppers or 2 jalapenos thinly sliced, 1 t each ground black pepper and salt.
-Add 1 pound (16-count is good) peeled, deveined shrimp with tails on and marinate for 10 minutes or so while heating the grill. (Cast iron skillet works well too.)
-Grill (or saute) until pink and serve over jasmine rice.

Ah, poor Sizzy Kitty. I still look for you around the house and probably will for quite some time. May your memory be for blessing.

My friend Bill...

...personifies all that is good about this season: His smile lights the darkest corners; his generosity knows no bounds; and his faith in us all is automatic.

And I came to really learn this quite by accident - if chance ever plays a role when someone special graces your life, that is.

On a nippy Sunday two weeks before Christmas, we went to get our tree. (Yes, we're Jewish; yes, we have a tree. Christmas is a secular celebration in our house where Dad was raised Catholic.) And like most families, we have a tradition surrounding this adventure. Our favorite place is Bill's tree stand - where Dill, and now Jere, got their first tastes of employment - and where the trees and the maple syrup, like Bill, come from Vermont.

Once our fir was tied high atop the van and the car alarm finally stopped (a tale for another day!) and we tipped our helper (Thanks Jere!), Bill roped me into working for him too. Actually, he sweetly asked if I could spare a few hours helping decorate wreaths because his primo decorator had a family emergency.

So as John tangled with the tree at home, I set about wiring cones and berries and bows onto wreaths. For four and a half glorious hours. And when he asked me to work some more, I returned Monday armed with Wild Cookies and learned how to make garland out of fresh brush. Though I became the self-monikered Queen of Garland, I was sure I was doing it 'wrong' because I went through bunches of brush as soon as they were clipped. But people seemed to like the super lush, thick, garlands because each strand sold before I finished it and I started taking special orders.

So maybe I didn't need to bribe 'em with the cookies...but before I knew it, the cookies were gone and Chuck (Bill's right-hand man) told Bill I should sell 'em at the stand...so besides selling Chuck more dozens than I could count, I made my first professional cookie sales to people I didn't even know! A big step for Suzy's Wild Cookies, Yay!

Toting more cookies and heavy work gloves, I returned every day except the brilliant day Dill came home from university in Ireland. (More on that in a bit.) Over the next couple weeks, I reconnected with people I didn't expect to see and others I had hoped to - You college guys have grown into Mensch Men! - learned more about my community, and made new friends including Jim & Peg (Bill's NJ hosts) and Bill's son, Bret, who lived with us for a week.

Through Bill, the world grew smaller and my sense of self-worth grew larger. And I found a subtle peace that I lacked.

In a famous New York Sun editorial, the writer told an 8-year-old girl her "little friends were affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age." And a 114 years later, it's truer than ever.

But Bill turns that on its ear with his grace and appreciation and soulful optimism. When people arrive at the tree stand with neither the requisite cash nor check, he simply tells them - no matter who it is! - to return with the payment later. When older customers ask him to deliver their trees, he doesn't just plop it on their porches. No, not Bill. He'll bring it into the home and make sure it's sturdy and safe in its holder. And when people arrive at his stand just to say hello, I saw their crestfallen faces if he wasn't there. He's cultivated friends and turned them into his New Jersey family.

Some skeptics might say: Oh, well...this joy is due to the Holiday Season. But I say it's Bill's spirit: It's just his way...and his joy and his spirit have no season.

I've known one other person like Bill... and like the girl with skeptical friends, I was 8 when this 9-year-old boy wiped the sticky apple cider off my hand at the local farm...his eyes sparkled and he left an impression on me of all that is good and possible...I see that again in Bill and I am honored to have become part of his legion.

So to further paraphrase that well-known editorial: Yes, my friends - skeptics or not - there is a Santa Claus...and he is Bill Manning.

So onto the recipe...Bill makes amazing maple syrup so I've been experimenting with it in a variety of baked goods...I made this maple coffee cake the day Dill came home...but honestly, I didn't need to sweeten that day at all. When Dill came down the ramp to the baggage claim, he saw his brother and he saw his father....but he stared at me, came straight for me and held me so tightly for what seemed like forever...That, is the best present a mom could get.

Details?
Here goes:

-Preheat oven to 350F and grease and flour a 10"x16"-ish baking pan.
-In a small bowl, combine a half c white sugar with 1 T cinnamon and 1 c chopped pecans. Set aside.
-Incorporate 1 and a half c Maple Syrup - preferably Bill's Fancy grade! - and a half c dark brown sugar into 8oz butter...it'll be a tad separated, but that's OK.
-Add 2 beaten eggs and 1 c plain Greek-style yogurt and mix to combine.
-Add 2 and a half c flour, 1 T baking powder, a quarter t salt and 1 t cinnamon and beat to a thick batter.
-Spread half in pan sprinkle with 2/3 of the cinnamon sugar mixture and a nice handful of dried cranberries.
-Spread or plop the rest of the batter on top and sprinkle the remaining sugar mixture on top.
-Bake for 45 to 60 mins until a toothpick comes out clean from the center of the cake.
-Cool just until you can handle the pieces you cut and enjoy!

So when the days seem to be darkest - whether by calendar or clouds of blue - remember Bill's smile and Dill's hug and that the most real things in this world are those you can't see. After all, a new year is upon us and the best gifts come in magical, human, packages.

Happy New Year!

A stranger in a strange land*

Like the first Europeans to settle on these shores, my older son is giving thanks on foreign soil. And while it's sure to be strange for him,  I'm surprised at how odd I feel that he's not going to be here. I guess I could prepare myself only so much 'til Reality had it's charming way of hitting me upside the head.

I shouldn't be surprised really, I mean Reality's been having it's way with me for quite some time now. But does anything prepare a parent - a mom especially - for a the first child to head off to college? In another country no less?

No. Pure and simple, the answer is no.

With my mother-in-law's solid love and support, she and I brought him to Ireland, got him settled, shook our heads in wonder as he shopped for various sports jerseys, watched as he took the training wheels off his alcohol consumption - yes, it's legal for him to drink there - and generally marveled at his maturity.

I was prepared to cry the night before our flight home, but I didn't. I just didn't feel sad...I started to miss him the minute he wrestled himself free from my hug...but I was so happy, so proud of the man who got out of the car with barely a backwards glance. And I knew we were both ready for this next phase of his life to begin.

And while Ireland has always felt like Home to him, it's here - roughly 3200 miles away from our home - that tomorrow he will sit among other American students, most of whom are strangers to him, and between classes, partake of this iconic American holiday with Thanksgiving lunch served in a campus pub courtesy of the University's International Office's MotherHens.

How odd this must be for him.

With that in mind, and the bubbles reminding me to use that butternut squash and quick, I decided to make Thanksgiving Chili earlier this week. Yeah, it's a goofy name...but it's more of a riff on chili than it is Thanksgiving: The squash replaces the tomato chunks and the beer replaces the tomato sauce....

Details?
Here goes:

-Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
-Peel, seed and cube a hefty (~3 lbs) butternut squash - or just buy it done for you - and toss it in about 2 T olive oil, a nice sprinkle of salt, white pepper, ground cumin and dried sage.
-Place in single layer on baking tray and roast for about 15-20 minutes or until tender...but NOT mushy!...cool on pan when done.
-Mince 3 large garlic cloves and chop a medium yellow onion and saute til soft in olive oil in a heavy pot.
-Add 1 lb ground turkey and break it up as you saute and cook it through.
-Season with 1 t salt, a half t white pepper, a quarter t each dried sage and ground cumin and a half t chili powder.
-Add the squash and all the drippings on the pan, 1 14-oz can butter beans (or cannellini) with their liquid, about 3/4 of a bottle of lager beer and 3 dried chipotle chilis cut into thin strips (use kitchen shears, it's much easier) and discard the really tough tops and some seeds - the more seeds you use, the spicier the chili will be.
-Optional Ingredient: Stir in about 10 pre-cooked chestnuts (halved).
-Simmer about 20 minutes and if it's too liquidy for you, break up 1 to 2 slices of bread and pop it in to absorb and thicken the sauce and simmer another 10 minutes to break down the bread.

This freezes well, so I set some aside for when my Dill gets home and gives me the lowdown on Thanksgiving in Ireland...

This Thanksgiving Eve, many friends are enjoying the relaxed company of their kids home from college...some others have an empty seat - because of work or school - just like me...So, if you're one of the former, would you give those kid(s) who walked in the door with tons of laundry and a hearty appetite an extra hug on behalf of those of us whose kids are still too far away? We'd really appreciate it...

And, have a Happy Thanksgiving!

*An update from the Auld Sod: My Stranger in a Strange Land opted to forgo the MotherHens' feast and chose instead to cook Thanksgiving dinner for his new chums! OK, so it turned out to be turkey sandwiches and stuffing and maybe pie too. Apparently the market didn't offer turkey parts for roasting, but Hey! Dill hosted 6 Irish lads and/or lasses for a taste of our tradition...and I know he gave thanks for having true friends around. And in a stroke of serendipity, the care package (with food and homemade peanut butter cookies, of course!) I sent just 3 days before - on the slowest airplane the USPS has - arrived 10 days early, on Thanksgiving Day. And for that tiny bit of home in his faraway dorm, I am grateful.

It's all about flexibility

And not the ballet or Pilates or tai chi kind either. After all, we're talkin food here...it's about knowing your pantry: What's on hand and what does it taste like.

Ah, nuthin like a heavy snow in October to abruptly bring on the desire for foods with the cozy factor of a thick down comforter. That's why I needed - yeah baby, needed! - creamy clam chowder that snowy Sunday. And while I had a lot of the provisions, I knew I needed to run out for cream, clam juice and celery. What I didn't know was that I didn't have everything from the original recipe I devised...because someone had failed to restock the pantry! Uh, yeah, that 'someone' is me, she types sheepishly. Doh!

So cue Flexibility, 'cuz I wasn't settling for anything else for dinner.

Now I knew off the bat that I was gonna start with some substitutions. First of all, Jere doesn't do seafood, so I planned to skim away some soup before adding the clams, throwing in some frozen corn and calling it a day. And second of all, I had 2 (6.5 oz) tins of (Trader Joe's in case you need to find some) whole cherrystone clams that would replace the fresh ones. But the rest of it I had to do on the fly...

I'll give you my Original version and put the Snowy Substitutions in green.

Details?
Here goes:

-In a sturdy stock pot (but not your biggest, save that for the soup), steam 3 dozen fresh little neck and 1 dozen cherry stone clams in a half cup to a cup of dry white wine. Some may take their sweet time to open, but don't pry 'em and if any don't open they're bad so: Pitch 'em!!

-When done, put the clams in a bowl to cool and add 3 8-oz bottles of clam juice to the pot.

(Snowy Substitution: crack open your tins - using 2 was good, using 3 would be better! and I think I had better yield than using the fresh ones, but anyway - and drain liquid into same type of sturdy stock pot and add bottled clam juice. Oh, and I didn't get enough clam juice when I went to the store, so I fortified with chicken broth...big whoop.)

-Cut 2 large potatoes into about 1/2-inch cubes...skin on is our preference, but hey, who am I to stop you from peeling 'em if you like doing the extra work and getting fewer nutrients?...and simmer in the clammy liquid til just tender.

-Meanwhile, in your fave large soup pot saute about 4 slices of bacon (applewood smoked is the standard around here now) that you've cut into 1/2-inch lardons until the fat is rendered and they are crispy. Remove the bacon and set aside.

-As the bacon's cooking, remove the clams from their shells saving as much liquid as you can (it's the Good Stuff!) and cut the larger ones in half. (Snowy Substitution: the tinned clams were all the larger size so I cut 'em all in half.)

-Add 2 T butter to the fat and sweat 4 minced garlic cloves with 1 medium diced onion (Snowy Substitution: 1 large shallot for the onion) for a couple minutes to get 'em started then add 2 chopped celery stalks. (This is so the celery doesn't quite turn to mush.) Add a little - as in small pinch - salt and white pepper.

-When translucent, add 2 T flour to make a roux.

-Whisk in the stock from the potato pot (you could've either put the potatoes into a bowl when they were done or pour the stock through a strainer so they don't plop into the soup - it all depends on timing and how much room there is in the dishwasher).

-(Snowy Substitution: since I didn't use white wine to steam the clams, I poured in about 2 T brandy at this point to round out the flavors. Ya know what? A splash of tequila would work here too.)

-Add 3 sprigs fresh thyme (Snowy Substitution: mince the leaves of 2 fresh rosemary sprigs), 1 quart cream, 1 t hot sauce (Snowy Substitution: about a quarter t cayenne) and the reserved potatoes.

-(Snowy Substitution: if catering to a non-clammy crowd, now's the time to add about a half cup frozen corn kernels and pull out 1 or 2 servings into a smaller pot to keep warm. Hey, if ya wanna add the corn with the clams, Go for it! It's just a Variation on a Theme.)

-Add the clams and their accumulated juices, season with a touch more salt and white pepper *if necessary!!* The clams and bacon are already salty, so you may not need it. Simmer about 15 mins and serve either version with some of the bacon on top.

(Leftovers are really good and it freezes well too!)

After being so rigid about what I wanted to eat, I knew I had to be flexible in how I got there... Compromise comes in every flavor doesn't it? And it's tasty too! (Especially with the French Bread I had made earlier in the day...but I'll save that tale for another day!)

Some women invited their mothers...

...others chose Golda Meir, Barbra Streisand and Michelle Obama. Still others picked the mom of freed Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit. Me? I involked Moo to come join us in the sukkah last evening.

What's a sukkah, you ask? It's a temporary outdoor structure, a hut, built for the week-long festival of Sukkot with 3 sides and barely covered so you can see the sky...it becomes the Gathering Place - the hearth so to speak - for friends and family. It's a place of connection and true community, even if you're alone. And though the sukkah symbolizes frailty and the temporary nature of life, what happens in a sukkah can be very powerful indeed.

Especially when you have 40 or so women gathering to celebrate the new month, or Rosh Chodesh.

(Rosh means head, so since it's at the top it also means start, and chodesh is month...Jewish women's groups often adopt Rosh Chodesh as a time to gather because of a woman's connection with the moon - ours is a lunar calendar after all - and we both have 28-day cycles. Oh! And because the women remained level-headed and faithful wandering in the desert for 40 years while the men ran off half-cocked, yelling "FIRE!" and smelting a silly little cow o'gold. So we were rewarded with a holiday...but I digress...)

So as if there weren't enough gals spilling out of the sukkah onto the patio and lining the adjacent rock wall, our fearless leader called for reinforcements! It's a tradition that for each night of Sukkot, you ceremonially 'welcome' a biblical figure into the sukkah with you, and that became our celebration... getting to know each other a little better by whose spirit she invoked.

So we introduced ourselves and said what woman - biblical, historical or current, Jewish or not - we would invite...as I said, I 'brought' Moo. I really don't know why. She wasn't particularly observant; I don't even know if she belonged to the women's club at her own synagogue. But she was the first woman to pop in my head and there she stayed...giggling with me, talking to my friends and inspecting the baked goods.

I think she fit in well with the crowd...each woman a testament to strength over vulnerability...Maybe that's why she came to me: The sukkah may be flimsy, but what's inside is enduring.

To make sure the guys endured without me, I made meatloaf the night before so they'd have leftovers.

Details?
Here goes:

-Preheat oven to 375 and line a sheet pan with parchment paper.
-In a bowl, combine 1 lb ground beef, 1lb ground turkey, 2 eggs, 2 T worcestershire sauce, a quarter to a third cup red wine, a quarter cup bread crumbs - I used matzah meal 'cuz it was the first thing I saw in the pantry! - 1 finely chopped medium shallot, 4 minced garlic cloves, 1 and a half t salt, lotsa ground black pepper and 1 and a half t dried oregano.
-Combine with your hands until well mixed, but don't mix it to death.
-Place on sheet pan and shape into a loaf.
-Pour on 1 4-oz tin tomato sauce - or as much as it'll take...
-And pop into oven for about an hour and a half...internal temp should be 160 when done.
-When done, let it rest another 10 minutes out of the oven so you're not serving crumbs.

And though their eyes weren't glowing quite as brightly when I came home as they were the first night they had this, they were happy. And so was I.

Sometimes, prayers really are answered...

(This is what transpired Saturday...and how I got another chance...)

Today is Yom Kippur. And I’ve been feeling crap for longer than I’ve wanted…often asking G-d to help me leave this place (metaphysically) and have some peace.

If I play my cards correctly, I just may be able to achieve it. Metaphysically. And if that happens, I will have gained the Awe of these 10 Days.

Before last night’s 1^st Al Chet (the confessional prayer), our Rabbi read some personal confessions from congregants that were humorous (the kids’) and poignant (the adults’) and my own formulated out of my pain: And for the sin of not knowing how to start to make thing right, selach lanu, mechal lanu, karpeir lanu. (Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.)

And I cried through the rest of the prayer.

After services, I greeted my friend and she asked if I’ve been writing…my inner Eeyore kicked in and I replied: Only cover letters, lots and lots, that no one is reading.

Throughout the evening and in my dreams, I kept thinking of my Al Chet, and how I replied to my friend. These weighed on my mind through services this morning. Earlier I had a little brekkie and I told myself that I broke the fast because I felt weak when I woke and because I’d lost a few pounds over the week. I felt I had rationalized and that is a form of beating myself up. My prevailing feeling was negative. I exuded negativity. And negativity is physically heavy and draining and a burden and only encourages more of the same. And it feels simply awful. Nothing good – what I craved above all else – ever comes of it. Ever.

When we stood a bit later, the little girl behind me inadvertently pushed my chair into my knees and quite automatically, I pushed it back. Then I thought: Why be that person? She didn’t do it intentionally. Find another solution. And I did.

That’s when it hit me. Just be Positive. While I’ve always been grateful for all that I have – too many wonderful things about my life and in my life to list here – I have let negativity and to some degree self-pity have its way with me. It was one aspect of Me I couldn’t shake; it was seeping from my pores. And I realized that if I let it persist, I’d remain unemployed and I’d remain down and I’d remain in this rut I’ve carved for myself.

Before Rosh Hashanah started, someone suggested that for this new year, I should resolve to not put myself down. I thought – rationalizing maybe? – that I was just being self-deprecating. Apparently, my friend saw through the all-too-often put downs and called it what it was. This was also on my mind throughout these High Holy Days and was the spark I needed to survive. And to grow.

So now, as I think about having broken the fast before it began, I’m not assailing myself for sinning. I honestly feel that I’ve done as commanded: I removed the distraction, the weakness in my body, that would have impeded my concentration as I sought to gain insight and spirituality on this Holy Day.

That’s what resolutions and spirituality and growth are all about, right?

Maybe I’ll email my friend and share this as a way of explaining my downer reply – Maybe I’ll just let her see the new me – Maybe the peace I’ve found today will transform me back to the person I know lives inside –

Maybe I won’t have to say a word.

            For the sin of negativity,

            And for the sin of repressing ourselves –

            Selach lanu, mechal lanu, karpeir lanu.

And may we all be written into the Book of a Positive life.

Amen.


And with a small piece of sweet Pumpkin Bread, I truly broke my fast.


Details?
Here goes:


-Preheat oven to 350 degrees and lightly grease a loaf pan with spray oil.
-Put 4 (store-bought) crispy ginger snaps or spice cookies in a zip-top bag and bash into small chunks. Set aside.
-In mixer, beat 6 T butter (room temp) with 3/4 cup dark brown sugar and a 1/4 cup regular sugar until fluffy then beat in 2 large (room temp) eggs, one at a time, until well incorporated.
-Add in 1 can (14 to 15 oz) pumpkin puree, a half t vanilla extract, 1 and a half cups flour, 1 t baking soda, a quarter t baking powder, 1 t salt, 2 t cinnamon, 1 t ground ginger, a half t each of grated nutmeg and cloves and 2 handfuls of walnuts.
-Carefully beat until just blended then pour batter into prepared pan. Top with reserved cookie crumbs.
-Pop into the oven for 1 hour 25 mins...it's done when a skewer comes out clean from the middle.


It's traditional to celebrate the new year and new beginnings with something sweet...and it's always good to say thanks for being blessed with life, sustained, and for reaching this day.