In my house we do the first night of Passover on the second night because of familial scheduling conflicts. On the second night, my sister-girl, her daughters, my husband, his brother and his brother's family and whatever other strays we can rope in come to my house for the seder. Marc has a box of plagues that he adds to every year. We have fake blood, rubber frogs, plastic ants, ping pong balls to stand in for hail, and way too much fun. I have a matzoh cover that my paternal grandmother made by hand and that my father remembers from his childhood eighty-odd years ago. We eat a mixed menu of sephardic and ashkenazik dishes, except for gefilte fish which I personally loathe and refuse to have in my house. And we tell the story of the Passover, using various and sundry haggadahs, because we can't find one we all agree on. My husband swears by the old Maxwell House give away. I prefer the one written by the former rabbi of the local Reconstructionist synagogue. Astrid prefers a more traditional book. The kids just love Marc's box of plagues. We eat and drink and sit at the table long after the littlest ones have found the afikomen.

And I love Passover. This is my favorite holiday of the year. For me it isn't so much about the story as it is about being part of something larger. I have photos of my family's seders from my childhood. Marc has the same. Every year I think about friends far away, and have a sense of comfort in knowing that we are doing the same thing, at the same time. Partaking separately in the same rituals. And my family, far flung and half estranged. And 80 years ago, my father was the youngest at his family's table, asking the four questions. For as far back as Jews can record history (well, since the event itself) there have been seders and children asking the questions. And in my mind's eye, I see the same thing going forward.

Passover, to me, transcends time and space and weaves all Jews in a web of connectedness. This, more than anything is what makes this holiday so dear to me. I never feel more at home in my skin than at the seder, never feel more of a Jew and what that means.

This year, may there be peace. Next year, in Jerusalem.

Not me, personally. We're doing O.K., thanks. But I'm behind in my fundraising. I'm on the Board of Directors of an AIDS service organization, and it's time for the annual AIDS Walk. On beautiful South Beach.

First of all, you need to know this about me: I do not break a sweat for anybody. I despise "Walks". I don't walk for MS, for breast cancer, for the March of Dimes, for the zoological society.

But I do walk for AIDS. I walk because I have lost so very many friends to this disease. I walk as a member of the team comprised of the Board Members of Care Resource. Care Resource is the oldest & largest HIV/AIDS service agency in Florida. Since 1983, more than 60 million people worldwide have become infected, including 28 million who have already died. 15 of those who have died were friends of mine. Two of those were brothers, and friends of mine from childhood. Scotty and Richard Neail. Others were friends from college. Others from work.

The majority of those newly infected are under the age of 25. Florida continues to have the 3rd highest incidence of reported cases in the nation and Dade & Broward counties rank 1 & 2 respectively in the State. While new treatments allow people to live longer there is still no cure and Care Resource?s ability to meet the increased demands on its resources is strained.

I implore you to support me as I participate in the 15th Annual AIDS WALK MIAMI ? RUN, WALK, BLADE FOR THE CURE on April 13TH. You can do this by joining me on the walk or sponsoring my walk.

Through the support of volunteers and contributors like you, 86% of each dollar raised goes directly to our programs and services offered free of charge to the community affected by HIV/AIDS. The 15th Annual AIDS WALK MIAMI helps finance important programs that Care Resource offers like the Riccardia Family Program, YouthNet, Care Management and Partners in Faith Program.

Please follow this link to go to my Walk page, and make a pledge of support. Any amount is appreciated. Thank you for helping me honor my fallen friends.

Oh, all right. I'll make it interesting for you. The page has a photo of me. A racy! photo of me. And if you all pledge enough money, I will wear what I have on in the photo to actually walk. And if you help me reach DOUBLE my goal, I'll even post photos of me in this outrageous condition, actually walking!! In the Florida heat. On South Beach. In my flower-covered bustier.

Now. Click. Pledge. Raise money.

Lynne

First of all, you need to know this about me: I do not break a sweat for anybody. I despise "Walks". I don't walk for MS, for breast cancer, for the March of Dimes, for the zoological society.

But I do walk for AIDS. I walk because I have lost so very many friends to this disease. I walk as a member of the team comprised of Board Members of Care Resource. Care Resource is the oldest & largest HIV/AIDS service agency in Florida. Since 1983, more than 60 million people worldwide have become infected, including 28 million who have already died. 15 of those who have died were friends of mine.

The majority of those newly infected are under the age of 25. Florida continues to have the 3rd highest incidence of reported cases in the nation and Dade & Broward counties rank 1 & 2 respectively in the State. While new treatments allow people to live longer there is still no cure and Care Resource?s ability to meet the increased demands on its resources is strained.

I implore you to support me as I participate in the 15th Annual AIDS WALK MIAMI ? RUN, WALK, BLADE FOR THE CURE on April 13TH. You can do this by joining me on the walk or sponsoring my walk.

Through the support of volunteers and contributors like you, 86% of each dollar raised goes directly to our programs and services offered free of charge to the community affected by HIV/AIDS. The 15th Annual AIDS WALK MIAMI helps finance important programs that Care Resource offers like the Riccardia Family Program, YouthNet, Care Management and Partners in Faith Program.

Please follow this link to go to my Walk page, and make a pledge of support. Any amount is appreciated. Thank you for helping me honor my fallen friends.

Oh, all right. I'll make it interesting for you. The page has a photo of me. A racy! photo of me. And if you all pledge enough money, I will wear what I have on in the photo to actually walk. And if you help me reach DOUBLE my goal, I'll even post photos of me in this outrageous condition, actually walking!! In the Florida heat. On South Beach. In my flower-covered bustier.

Now. Click. Pledge. Raise money.

Lynne

Yesterday my husband treated me to the most wonderful birthday. He let me sleep in. He made me coffee. He took me to an afternoon movie (Star Trek: Nemesis, the best part of which was the lights coming on in the theater when it was over), and then out to dinner at Les Halles with a few of my best girlfriends. We drank, we smoked, we yapped like lap dogs and we ate divine food. And I got presents. It just doesn't get any better.

One of my presents was getting the koi pond finished and filled with water and fish. Another was a watch with Charles Demuth's "I Saw the Figure Five in Gold" as its face. And band. Only my favorite painting in the world.

I received several books yesterday. Nina gave me a Dr. Suess 4-pack which included another one of my favorite things: The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins. Marc gave me two books, the latest one by Christopher Moore, and David Hockney's essay on Optics and Art in the Renaissance. Fabulous.

Yep. It was a great birthday. Wish me luck in my attempt to survive till the next one.

People hate the holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas because it forces them to be with their families of origin. Take my family for example. I love my father's side of the family. They are a sprawling, outrageous bunch. Every single one of them can tell a story. And will, whether you ask or not. Being with that side of my family is like being in a Woody Allen movie. My mother's side of the family is very buttoned down. More like being in a Phillip Roth novel. Undercurrents. Witty, but genteel, reparte. I love being with them, too.

There is nothing I like better than being with these people. Either side of the family. Of course, it took about 10 years of heavy therapy for me to be able to embrace them so uncritically.

I've been reading my surrogate daughter's blog with scary regularity, ever since she started one (Bad Teenage Poetry). I am sooo proud of this girl/woman. Her writing is heart felt and crisp. She went off to college in August and has been feeling her way along, joining a wrestling club, feeding the hungry at the Krinsha Temple... But she all of a sudden hit the zone. She's quoting the beats and reading at poetry jams. Dancing mad at midnight to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Finding her new family. And I'm watching it all with my breath held, as the chrysalis thins and the magnificent wings start to show. What an unfurling this promises to be.

So my best friend's brother died in my hospital this morning. He had leukemia, had tried chemo in prep for bone marrow transplant, and instead of getting 10 good months extra, he crashed. Got about 10 good days. As if that doesn't just suck the big Lebowski, here's the part I really don't get. He had a DNR. He had a living will that said no machines, no drastic measures. For the past 10 days he's been in a coma: tubes, machines, pumps and drips. Because his wife couldn't accept it and wouldn't admit that Jimmy had made his choice about how to die.

Can you get any more selfish than this? I'm not ready, so I'm going to control your end. Promise me, when it comes to it, give me a major bolus of morphine and let me shuffle off this mortal coil. I am not so attached to life that I fear the next passage. I AM affraid of dragging it out.

When my grandmother died, she went at home. We all came around to say goodbye. I let her hold her diamond ring, one last time. Even put it on her tiny little bird-like finger. The weight spun it around. Then it wouldn't come off. "Ha Ha, Gramma, you can't take it with you. Dammit, give it back, you gave it to me!" And the nurse is looking at me like I'm nuts, but the ring would not BUDGE off her finger. Hey. The nurses here all tell stories about folks in comas can hear you. Tell stories about how the one guy woke up and said they remember hearing what the nurses were saying over their bodies.... more or less. So who's to say Gramma wasn't giving me the hose, one last time for old time's sake.

What's that old joke? When I die, I want to go like my grandfather, peacefully in my sleep, not screaming in terror like his passengers.