Happy Palm Sunday if you celebrate it, gang.

And Happy Pesach, if you celebrate Passover, which began yesterday evening.

My adoptive maternal grandmother’s table literally looked like the photo below on Pesach. It was a huge holiday for us. We did it mostly in Hebrew, with some English. It took HOURS for the dinner to be over. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it, but, as a little girl, it felt like the ceremony/meal would never end.

But the ending of the evening was fun — by then, my grandfather would have hidden the afikoman, and the children at the table had to go find it. (We always did.) And then my grandfather gave us each a silver dollar. Then we said the final prayer and the night was officially over.

As I got a little older, and celebrated the seder with friends whose families were Reformed Jews (we were Conservative), and they did the whole ceremony in English — I could not believe how fast it went! Suddenly the meal is served and then, just as suddenly, it was all over. Frankly, it made me wonder why they even bothered.

For many years, I was the youngest in my family, and so this was my part in the ceremony — reciting the Ma Nishtana, or the 4 Questions:

I can still recite it by heart. It was a big deal to me.

Nowadays, I think of Passover as being Jesus of Nazareth’s final meal before his arrest — not so much the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years. But I did inherit all of my grandmother’s fine porcelain china (complete service for 12) and some of her seder pieces and her white linen tablecloth with 12 linen napkins, so it’s all still with me.

Okay! Anyway,

It is a really lovely Sunday morning here in the Hinterlands. And the guy who takes care of my lawn is already here, mowing the grass!

Laundry is underway. And something like 1700 cats have been fed.

Here’s a photo from yesterday — when the kittens officially opened their eyes:

And here’s this from yesterday!

I did indeed take my favorite 94-year-old Japanese client out for sashimi (and sake — for him) and, as usual, our fortune cookies were uncanny!! (Well, at least I hope that mine will prove to be uncanny really, really soon!)

What’s interesting, though, is that this time, he actually agreed to read his fortune and he was startled by it, since, of course, his primary language is Japanese. His is the top, mine the bottom:

And here’s this–

When my favorite 94-year-old Japanese man was working his way through night school at NYU in NYC in the early 1950s, he worked as a TV repairman during the day. TVs were basically brand new back then, and they looked exactly like this!

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I will probably take a walk today, since it is so pretty out, but other than that, I will be here at my desk working on the TV pilot script!

On another note, I’m finding that I’m really struggling to not be sad — with the one-year anniversary of my dad’s death approaching on Thursday.

I had such an intense dream last night — a man was coming into the living room to rape me, and I went running into my dad’s bedroom, shouting, “Help me, Dad, help me!” But my dad was near-dead with cancer and was struggling to even move.

Oddly, though, there were several other younger men in the bedroom and in the house, who did help me. And when I woke up and was thinking about the dream, I figured the other men were probably spirits of some kind. In real life, the times I was raped and otherwise sexually assaulted, my dad didn’t even live in the same town as I did. And at that point in my life, I was literally on my own in everything. I couldn’t go to my mother for any kind of help at all. I couldn’t go to anyone. For many complex reasons, the 1970s were both the most amazing and horrifying years of my life.

But somehow, even though the dream was a little disturbing, it felt like closure for me. It really did. The spiritual part of it.

I’ve posted this photo here before, and it’s a little creepy-looking. My dad is still alive here — my stepsister texted me this photo one morning, about 4 months before he died, to assure me that my dad was sleeping soundly and was, basically “fine.” But the photo really upset me at the time , because to me, my dad looked dead.

Anyway, my dad looked exactly like this the day before he died, when I went to visit him for the last time. And now I’m glad I have the photo, because it is my last photo of my dad and it reminds me of my last time with him.

I held his hand and sang to him that final day — “Release Me”. I won’t go into the story behind that song again, I’ve posted it here before, but it was in honor of my dad and his very difficult life with my mother and his final release from all that.

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And I think that’s it for now!

Gonna finish the laundry and get started on the script.

Have a wonderful Palm Sunday if you celebrate it, gang.

Thanks for visting.

I love you guys. See ya!

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I leave you with this!

As a very young girl in Hebrew school, this was my absolute favorite song!! I used to sing it all the time, actually. Even when I wasn’t in school.

Today, it brings back such wonderful memories for me.

“Hinei Ma Tov” — which comes from the first verse of Psalm 133. Even if you don’t speak Hebrew, listen to this! It’s so wonderful!! (And it includes English translation.)

Okay, enjoy, gang. And rejoice.