sometimes I’m very sad that our only vacation this year was marred by Covid and we never had a real change of atmosphere.  But when we go out in Tel Aviv I feel we’re on vacation anyway.  Today, for instance, we had lunch at Manta Rei on the beach.  When I came home to a zoom with poet friends in Canada I felt we’d all been on vacation.  Everyone had great things planned for the weekend. But my vacation was the most fun.  There is nothing like the beach.  

Tomorrow my book club is going to be talking about one of the many contradictory books about Hedy Lamarr, so I’m making a dinner as much in the Austro-Hungarian empire mood as possible.  Cold cherry soup, gevetch, szekeley goulash, tshipetke, and Hungarian applesauce cake.  After years of catering primarily to shnitzel-driven grandchildren, I feel like I’m getting me cooking mojo back, and I’m even considering writing a cook book.  It begins with “wear good shoes” and ends with “get someone else to clean up.”