I don’t know if I’m more relieved that I’m two days past the horror of this recent weekend, or more in fear of the looming upcoming weekend. What was the horror this past Saturday? I couldn’t eat. Yes, I fasted for Yom Kippur, and if you’ve been keeping up you’ll know I’m in love with food. So this is a tough day for me.
However, I’ll take the relentless, gut-wrenching hunger pangs (yes, I’m a baby) over the chaos of my normal driving-my-kids-everywhere-then-picking-them-up-to-take-them-somewhere-else weekends! At least we had some real quality family time, with no one on their computers or cell phones. Sure, we all had to sit in a hot temple, next to bad-smelling, sweaty people with even worse breath. And yeah I had to endure my son looking at me with pleading, beseeching eyes and every few minutes ask me, like Oliver Twist, “Can I eat now? How about now? Now?” But we weren’t running around non-stop and for me that truly was a blessing. I was with my wife and kids, whom I love, even though by 4:00 they all started to look like hot pastrami on rye sandwiches to me. Fortunately, the sun soon went down so I did not eat any family members, and as I look at them now, I’m glad.
Who would have thought a smelly, almost fatally starving Saturday (okay, I’m a HUGE baby) would be the best weekend memory in recent history? The new weekend quickly approaches. Sure, I’ll be able to eat what I want, when I want, but the food as well as the rest of the weekend will be just a blur. And as always, I’ll only catch my breath afterwards when I come into work, kiss my desk, share the dead man walking stares of my co-workers and proclaim, “Thank god it’s Monday.”