Looking for home

It's 10:10 p.m. and I still have so much work to do.

The Cubs just dropped their 7th straight playoff game a few minutes ago. The apartment smells of tzimmes and matzo ball soup and latkes. I miss home.

I spent the day doing my best impersonation of my grandmother (0kay, I wasn't screaming "Marvin!!!!!" at the top of my lungs), and it was pretty tough. I made matzo ball soup, tzimmes, kugel, latkes, and brisket for a group of friends. It was my first time entertaining at the apartment, and it went quite well, despite the fact that I was slipping into a deeper and deeper depression with every Dodger that crossed home plate. The food was pretty damn good, I have to say. I was pleased with how it all turned out, especially my Pushing Daisies-inspired pear pie with gruyere cheese baked into the crust. It was an effort, though. It gave me a ton of appreciation for what my Nana does year in and year out.

I'm so easy to adapt, and I roll so easily with whatever happens that sometimes I forget to stop and remember what I've left behind. Sitting in my living room shoveling in mouthfuls of kugel with a bunch of people whose company I really enjoy still couldn't erase the fact that this was my first Rosh Hashanah not spent at my cousins' or my Nana's. I don't know if I always adequately express how much I miss all of it, all of them, but I do. Very much.

Time to grade some tests. I wish everyone a Shanah Tova. Let's kick some Dodger ass tomorrow, huh?