Passover and Poetry
Monday Morning Musings:
“And when our children tell our story. . .
They’ll tell the story of tonight. . .
Raise a glass to freedom
Something they can never take away”
–Lin-Manuel Miranda, “Raise a Glass to Freedom,” Hamilton
This past week of cooking and cleaning
of family and friendship
of war and words,
of stories and rhyme–
the tides of the river
the flight of a crow
the raising of glasses
the flow of time
We celebrated the launch of River Ghosts at William Heritage Winery
as we walk and talk and sing
the love we bring
to the table
even as we miss absent faces
we find traces
amidst syllables we utter
through the clutter
of the everyday.
What we say in tears and laughter—
flies on heart-wings from here to here-after,
becoming another story—added light–
to all the stories of tonight.
I’m sorry if I’m overwhelming with photos in this post. Friday night was the start of Passover. Our older child is here, and we celebrated “our” book River Ghosts being out in the world. (They designed the stunning cover art.) We had some summer-like days this week and some beautiful spring days. We’ve also had thunderstorms, heavy rain—and this morning, I had to turn the heat back on.
On Passover, we are commanded to tell the story of the Exodus as part of the seder. Let’s just say, we are not traditional. My talented children wrote this year’s Passover play—the best one ever—over glasses of wine Friday night and coffee on Saturday morning. Where do they get this last-minute writing under pressure thing?
My siblings could not be with us on Passover, but it was still wonderful to have my children here and my sister-niece and her family. This was our first Passover together since the pandemic. Today is the two-year anniversary of my mom’s death.