Shana Tova

It's the Jewish New Year. I've escaped briefly from the dinner table to write this. The dinner has been made livelier by my visiting nephew (my sister's oldest), here for a few days from Los Angeles where he manages a medical marijuana store. He's currently thrilling my brother's kids (and horrifying their mother) with descriptions of kosher meat plants that aren't any healthier or more humane than any other factory meat.

But what is killing me is watching my big brother who is sitting across from me. He's walking around making wonderful noises about how well his Parkinson's meds are working, but I'm watching him lifting his fork like it weighs a 100kg, moving it slowly through the air and aiming it carefully so the contents don't wind up on the table. He's much more disabled than he was a year ago and everyone's acting like there's nothing wrong.

I won't play that game. I tell him I'm worried and he needs to slow down his work and at least get enough sleep. He says it is impossible and that his life is about staying ahead of crises. If he slows down, his family goes under. I would like to say that if he wasn't paying $18,000 a year in private school tuitions, things might be easier...

Ah well, we all have our burdens, I suppose.

A sweet year to you all.