Friday, October 14, 2005

Breaking with Tradition

Let’s take a momentary break from the “furniture and furnishings fest” I’ve been indulging in (yes, there’s more to come) to recognize the season of reflection that’s just concluded.  Rosh Hashona and Yom Kippur are days of deep spirituality and meaning for me - except for this year.  This year I was slammed at work with special jobs to finish and colleagues out ill or on vacation, and I had committments to see relatives making rare visits to the blustery bay, so I had to suck it up and work right through both holy days.  This actually bummed me out pretty thoroughly, and even Kelly’s thoughtful gesture of making a traditional jewish apple cake for R.H. didn’t really bring my soul back into tikkun olam fettle.  But I did get a lot of work done at my desk, was recognized as a member of a hardworking team, and could take some solace in my labors having had a positive effect on thousands of people less fortunate than myself.  It probably should have cheered me up, but it really didn’t.

Then came Y.K. and I still remained at my desk.  No fasting, no Story of Jonah, none of the traditional spiritual remediations I’ve grown to appreciate so much over the past many years.  I just worked, and groused, and grew increasingly scowly. It was as if I was punishing myself for failing to atone - a transitive punishment to be drawn out over the whole year, rather than expiated in one fell swoop on Yom Kippur.  Even my old traditional post-holy day gathering to break the fast at Al and Jackie’s house was off - we’d been invited but respectfully declined because we expected Kel’s brother and his family to have just arrived in town for a short visit and wanted to spend the time with them.  However, that much-augured arrival turned out to be on Saturday, not Thursday, so we’d backed out of the party for no good reason.  No services, no break-fast.  I felt adrift, isolated, unconnected and unfulfilled.  The longer the day went and the less spiritually I spent it, the more my dudgeon deepened. 

Then, as the day passed the half-way mark, things began to change.

I went to the post office and, on the way back, had to stop and admire a beautifully-maintained cherry-red Rolls Royce Corniche II parked on the street by my office, on the floors of which were Simpsons floor mats.  That made me giggle for the first time in hours and broke my sour mood a little bit.  Then I heard from Kel that some other friends had invited us to their house for a break-fast, which promised to be very enjoyable.  A short walk with a friend late in the day allowed me to get a few sunrays on my shiny scalp and loosened me up a little for social interactions to come, and then I booked out of the office only half an hour after quitting time and rode BART and a crowded bus down to Mitch and Catharine’s place. 

I got there in time to hang out with my old college chum Beth, who was making an appearance but had to leave early because her partner Stacia was scheduled to leave the next morning for two weeks to help federal disaster remediation teams re-open a hospital in Louisiana.  Beth and I shot the breeze and caught up for a while, munching on a variety of delicious cheeses and cured meats, and then the rest of the crowd showed up - Shawn and Killian, Charles and Lori, Mitch (he’d been at work), and of course Kel and Zach.  Here are a few memorable points from the evening:

* Mitch had visited our mutual alma mater last week while on a business trip and picked up three sweatshirts: one for himself, one for his infant son Eli, and one for Zach. Zach now has his own school colors hoodie with a binkie-holder pocket.  I’m as grateful as I am envious.  Thanks, Mitch.

* Eli had received a gift not too long ago of a toy train set.  However, he already had one, so he re-gifted it to Zach (via his fabulously gracious parents).  I have a history of enjoying model trains, but this one takes the prize: it is RADIO CONTROLLED.  That’s right, we walked out with an R/C model train set.  Zach had better grow up quick because I’m gonna start playing with it this weekend.

* Mitch prepared another delicious, satisfying meal for us, featuring racks of lamb - about five or six of them.  Several came from Bryans, a very upscale gourmet provisioner of viands in tony Laurel Heights; several others came from CostCo.  They were all sublime.  In the end, we were unable to form any concensus that either of them was noticeably superior.  The only real difference was in the size of the rib-bones: Bryan’s had smaller ones than CostCo.  As people called out for one or the other, I was the only one giggling like a 4th grader: “Give me a big bone!” “Oh, the skinny ones are better, give me a skinny bone anyday!” “What are you saying?  Those big ones are so mouthwatering!” “Well I can’t tell, is this one big or little?  I just can’t seem to judge bone girth!” I just slurped my wine like a good boy and enjoyed the repartee. 

* I don’t remember how we got on the subject, but we wound up discussing “triolobyte pants.” I think they’re made of trilobytes, or their shells, or something.  Shawn suggested that “there’s no room for ants in my trilobyte pants.” I replied that “here’s another of my patented rants, about my goddamn trilobyte pants.” Oh forget it.  You try drinking 3/4 of a bottle of red wine and not laughing at this.  It goes back to a lesson my friend Laila had taught me that afternoon while we had our “get Dan’s head back on properly” walk: “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum.”

We eventually got home at 11:30 at night, full of lamb and taters and strawberry shortcake (with ginger ice cream and the berries were infused with Barbados rum), carrying a big sack of clothes that Eli can’t wear anymore but that are just about Zach-sized, and my Zach’s awesome R/C train.  We were bleary with food and laughter, and Zach was just bleary, having refused to close his eyes while the party was rockin’.  He slept in the car on the way home, and we slept shortly thereafter.  I woke up this morning with a light heart and a strong sense of connection, belonging, involvement, and - most importantly - gratitude.  My friends - you who touched me yesterday and raised my spirits, and you who have woven me into your lives over the past year - you have reminded me of what the season of reflection and repair is all about.  I thank each of you for all you have done to re-orient me toward positive goals.  A very sweet and blessed new year to all of you, regardless of the thickness of your bone.