On April 29th, my scanner died, so I went online for a new one.
One store's home page read, “Passover Holiday Closing. We are not accepting orders at this time. Checkout will be available starting at 9:15 pm EST Sat April 30.”
“B & H Photo is Jewish,” I told Chupa, who is Jewish. “Happy Passover!”
“. . . thank you . . . that means so much to me,” he said.
“Did you know it was Passover?”“I had my suspicions,” Chupa replied. “As soon as you said, ‘Happy Passover,’ I thought, ‘I bet it’s Passover.’ ”
Two orange tabby brothers followed us home in December. They lived with us for five weeks, snuggling, wrestling, running around like madmen and punching each other in the face, until their owners saw our “found” signs (which had been posted in front of their house for weeks).
Chupa misses them a ton. They shredded furniture, ate Kolinsky brushes and laptop screens, farted intense farts on our laps, pawed wet paintings and shoved my brush around whenever I painted, but they were cute and soft fuzzballs.
Several years ago, Mom and I visited Japan during cherry blossom season. While there, Mom found out that her mom had cancer and was awaiting surgery in the hospital.
That night, Mom lay on the bed in our room at the ryokan. “Emmie, my mom is sick . . . what if I lose her?” she asked.
I tried to think of something kind and comforting to say.“Well, she is 86,” I said.