Covid rained on our plans. We would have liked to attend an indoor seder, but you can't be indoors in a group if you don't have the vaccine.
So we met our relatives early in the day--outdoors--for a Brooklyn pizza. When my shrink heard this, his heart stopped. "You can't have pizza for a seder," he said. I explained that we were all improvising.
My own family tradition is Polish, which means fresh sausage. I spoke to my grandmother, in her nineties, and she advised me just to steam the sausage in a large skillet. She said, "You could also fry them lightly, but that's not needed. Just serve with mustard. Some people would want ketchup, too."
My Jewish husband and I dreamed of an egg-hunt for our mildly-ambulatory son, but we settled on sitting together with a bunch of small toys. A mini-Rubik's cube, a snap bracelet, a bouncy ball, a neon plastic egg. I'm not sure how much Josh processed, but he did seem to like gnawing on the rim of one half-egg.
Next year will be bigger and better.
We're reading:
*"The Barker Twins: Trouble at School." A Tomie de Paola essay on bullying.
*"Bill and Pete." De Paola explores friendship--between a bird and a reptile.
*"The Hat." Arnold Lobel on the unique challenge of selecting a gift for a pal.
Happy springtime to you.
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