But this is entry # 732, and 732 is my lucky number. (I also like the number 42, but I have no idea why.) When I lived in the dorm at the Great Big State University as a freshman and a sophomore, I lived in room 732 in the Giant Dormitory (in fact, one of about a dozen giant dormitories on campus, along with a few dozen little ones.) Anyway, I've been fond of the number 732 for a good many years.Otherwise, things are slow. I finished a fairly decent Harry Potter fanfic. The SCM still lives. The sinus headache is starting to fade, a dull ache. Things are quietly busy in the room of books and things.
Ah, here's a good one. I'm off next week, and there's a lunch planned with the Chum and E, but I've gone out on a limb and invited them to have lunch here. (Did I mention this already? God, I'm so old.) Every once in a while, they each have a grand evening soiree, with buffet and husbands and a half-dozen couples or more. I can't do that; I don't have the room, even if I had the talent. But I think I can swing lunch for two really close non-judgmental friends. I had a nice menu all figured out, I was good to go. And then I remembered: it's Passover. Of which E is somewhat observant.
Well. So much for the pasta salad, and the bean salad, and oh, the cake. And the sandwiches.
Hey, I was raised as a Jewish person, albeit not an observant one, and my grandpa was himself personally an Orthodox Jewish person. I swear I never knew until today that you can't eat beans during Passover. Although I'm thinking this is just people of the more extreme persuasion, because I also found recipes online today for Passover beans, and recipes from Italian Jewish people with pasta in them. I'm glad I asked -- another teacher at school; I knew she would know -- but I think E will be happy just not to eat bread. She keeps way Kosher at home because one of her sons' wives is very into it and she wanted to make sure her grandchildren would be able to eat in her home. But she doesn't have much of a personal faith issue with it. And she would never want me to go crazy over this. (She doesn't want me to have to cook or have it here at all, but I want to.)
Okay, one more day before vacation.
