Verbatim

As usual, I'm beginning by apologizing for not checking in sooner. I kept meaning to, really…

I've been reading a lot but can't really recommend anything—one dud after another, it seems. I even twice allowed myself to stop reading a book midway! Same with movies, unfortunately—nothing I'd urge you to see. Please pass along any book or movie recommendations, and fast!

Work is going well. I am so lucky to have a job that I really love. I know I will want to retire at some point, but I'm not even ready to pull back a little yet. Maybe next week I'll do a roundup of interesting books I worked on recently, but here I'll just say that I edited Anne Lamott's latest, which will be out in April—that was such a delight and an honor I can't even begin to tell you. 

The kids are all doing well, and we even got to go out to dinner with all of them and their Plus-1's at the end of October! I was walking on air. Those of you on Facebook/Instagram have already seen this (unfortunately slightly blurry) photo, but I look at it a hundred times a day, so here it is again:

Also in October Andy and I celebrated our 35th anniversary! Which seems impossible since I think I'm only 39 years old… We had a lovely dinner in the North End and our wonderful waiter hooked us up with this swell celebratory dessert: 

We had a very small (for us) Thanksgiving this year—only 10 people!—but that meant that we could all sit at one big table for the first time. And yes I still made an obscene amount of food (2 turkeys! 5 pans of stuffing!) because we do love our leftovers around here.

So here we are at the end of the year. 2023 was a big year for funerals Chez Verbatim, unfortunately. The first loss was a big one, our dear friend Rodger, who had been battling glioblastoma for about a year and a half. Rodger was the one who introduced me and Andy way back in 1986, not even as a fix-up but just his usual way of getting all his friends together whenever he could. He didn't have much in the way of family, but he had more friends than anyone I've ever known. We tried to see him as much as possible after his diagnosis, especially toward the end, and there would often be a whole gang of us visiting him and reminiscing, usually over lunch and with much laughter.

After Rodger, Andy and I lost three (yes, three!) aunts all in the space of three months. It's a blessing to have so many relatives in their nineties (including my mom and Andy's parents), but that means there's always an expectation of loss on the horizon.

I don't know if you have ever been to a Jewish funeral, but there are two parts of it that I find very meaningful. The first is the recitation of the Mourner's Kaddish, which I've known by heart since I was very little—it's also recited at all regular Shabbat services because there's always someone in mourning. At Shabbat services at my temple, and at many others, the rabbi asks those who are in mourning (either having just lost someone or on the anniversary of the death) to stand if they wish and say the name of the person who died. It's a way for the others in the congregation to know who might need support, and it's quite a powerful experience—one that I first experienced when my dad died back in 2014. So at a funeral, there's something very comforting about reciting those familiar Hebrew words in the same rhythm and intonation along with everyone else, knowing that you're all sharing this experience, albeit in your own way. Another important funeral ritual is after the graveside service, to allow anyone who wishes to come up to where the casket is already in the hole and throw a shovelful of dirt onto it. It's considered a final good deed you can do for the person who has died. In fact, after that part is over, at some funerals a group of friends and relatives will grab shovels and fill in the rest of the hole, rather than let strangers (cemetery workers) do it. It's a show of respect. And let me tell you, it's an incredibly powerful moment. It's also good to feel like you can actually do something when you're otherwise feeling so helpless.

And then comes the shiva (the post-funeral gathering), which is all about eating and hugging and crying and eating and telling stories and laughing and eating and saying "Why do we only see each other at funerals?!" and just being together in sadness but with shared memories.

I would like to not have to go to any funerals next year, please and thank you. I wish everyone health and happiness and peace in 2024.