Tonight was Kol Nidrei; tomorrow, Yom Kippur. I'd actually forgotten all about the Kol Nidrei aspect of the holiday until I started reading about it in other peoples' journals (d'oh!). This kind of surprises me, as Kol Nidrei used to always be my favorite part. I love the prayer, and, in those Reform Synagogues I've been to, I always dug the cello (I got the sheet music once during the days when I was taking cello lessons -- it involved more than three clefs and was way over my head).
But since my Grandmother died, neither my Mother nor I have been able to afford Synagogue membership (well, I suppose if you want to get technical, we couldn't afford it when she was alive either -- we just used her membership and ordered "guest" tickets. Apparently membership for a 91 year old widow is comparatively cheap). Now, since my Uncle Tommy died I've more or less given up on religion, but, well, I miss the music the most, I think. And there was something about going to Shul that really did signify the beginning of the year, and of fall.
So here I sit, in my kitty cat pajamas and Cocaine Bob's sweatshirt, pondering the Jewish New Year and also my headcold. Three days without a cigarette have left me congested, wheezy, and sore, and I want to make a very serious point to try to remember how crappy cigarettes make me feel the next time I'm feeling the urge to light one up. Also on my mind is the fact that I got called in early to work (because two other people called in sick as well), and by the end of the night, I was feeling that used up exhausted feeling that just made me want to be held. My fellah was nowhere to be found, so I came home. And, as long as we're throwing random stuff out there, it was eight years ago today that my Stoney cat died, right here, in my arms. I miss her to pieces sometimes, and still remember the words of the email that bishopjoey sent me when he heard the news: something about her seeing me "through thick and an awful lot of very thin..." I printed that email out and saved it. I suspect it's still in my kitchen, along with the poignant email that Daryk wrote after the September 11th attacks.