We slept late and went to shul, came home, had some leftovers, took a nap, and went to Tashlich at the Seekonk. It would have been easier to just throw some bread out the window down into the river, but we went to the Temple's gathering on the East Side. It was nice mingling, but there were pangs for us and for others of no longer returning to our house on Upton for the post-Tashlich "cast your first sin" party. We picked up Bess, had some more leftovers, and called it a year.

Some year. A year of great tragedy, loss, and pain, with a strange new sense of vulnerability. A year of more arthritic joints, fewer miles on the bike, and more inches around the middle. A year when the malachamovess, with whom we began these pages, fluttered his wings, reminding us that he is ever waiting.

And a year of joy, of beginnings, and of life. A new couple. A new baby. A new house. A new promotion. A new office.

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So nu, Mich'l? Vos macht ihr?