TWENTY YEARS AGO:I was nineteen. I'd failed out of engineering school and was trying to pass calculus and learn computer science. I'd met my best friend for many years, Pat, and her husband. Pat. She was not yet a very religious Protestant; I was not yet Orthodox. I'd met her through her guide dog, Henry. Actually, he was Hank, but she called him Henry. He was a yellow lab. I got to see four of her five children as babies; the fifth was born around the time of my wedding with rather severe but correctable physical problems.
TEN YEARS AGO: I was 29. I'd been married just over two years and we were just beginning to discuss having kids. We were getting more active in science fiction fandom; we were getting more active in our synagogue and we were making close friends in both. I think we were already keeping the Sabbath fairly well. We were active on GEnie, the old GE network, which was showing signs of changing policy.
THREE YEARS AGO: I was 36. We'd just concluded what we thought was one of the best Passovers we'd had. This was the first year I'd made both s'dorim instead of either going away to my inlaws or a friend's house, or making one seder and going to another, and both had gone well. We even spent some time going to Prospect Park and meeting friends there and going to their house afterwards. I remember being offered cookies. "I can't have these. They're non-gebrokts!" Meaning that they were superstrict cookies made with potato starch. It was the sugar, actually, but it got a laugh. The intermediate days were fine, and we even had guests for the final day - a gay couple who were very active in our unusual synagogue. When people asked how our Pesach had gone, we'd said, "Everyone should have a Pesach like ours." That June, I'd be offered and take my first job in eight years, and that July we'd be asked to leave our apartment.
Edited to add: I got the year wrong. In 2000, I was still in mourning for my father. We had had an extremely stressful Passover because Jonathan was at odds with our rabbi and other members of the power structure of our then synagogue on the question of liturgy. We had reached a point where we were looking at apartments in Flatbush, but decided that leaving in anger would be bad. When we did leave the following year, we were in a good place with all those people.
ONE YEAR AGO: I was 38. We were recovering from Passover, and beginning to plan for Contata, a filk convention in New Jersey. We were living where we are now.
YESTERDAY: We went to New Jersey to visit my mother and brother, and we bought our first microwave and our first DVD player.
TOMORROW: Buffy and Smallville, physical therapy and picking up laundry.