The morning after Passover blanketed itself in sleep, gray sky and rain. Luckily, after moving inside to sleep about 2 a.m. when it became too cold on the porch, I sank into many hours of sleeping surrounded by sleeping dogs. When I finally got up at 10:30, none of the animals stirred, so I thought well to let sleeping dogs lie. I made my way to the kitchen to whip up some matzoh-brie after seeing my sister poster a picture of frying the same hundreds of miles away.
The afternoon after Passover, I notice the whole dish rack is full of wine glasses of many sizes and even more origins. Too much trouble to put them away, so I let drying glasses dry. I drove the van back to Anderson Rentals which, on a Saturday, didn’t have its front office overtaken by hundreds of pounds of sleeping dogs but only yippy dogs helping waiting on people.
The evening after Passover, the dogs go back to sleep, the wine glasses are less conspicuous now that other drying dishes are piled on them, friends unexpectedly feed us a luscious dinner, and the whole house settles back down. The counter is covered with partially-emptied wine bottles, mostly Manischewitz, which I will be seasoning stews, soups and stirfrys with for the next year. The refrigerator holds the rest of the remains except for the piles of macaroons I mailed to Natalie in St. Paul.
Almost a full day after Passover, the moon has tipped back toward disappearing itself, and all the songs, prayers and foods
