June 14th, 2002

Mama Deb


My mother is getting better, and should be home by tonight. My Sabbath dinner is in the oven, and lunch will be some sort of salad, or maybe leftover chicken. I haven't decided. Because I can't think at all.

I can't take care of my mother. We're supposed to do this joint siyyum tomorrow (it's a celebration following the completion of some major work. In this case, my synagogue divided the six books of Mishnah, which is the codification of Jewish law.) but it's raining and I haven't been to synagogue in weeks and I just want to sleep.

Next weekend, I'm running the con suite at a small filk convention, called Contata. I've done it before, but this is under the most adverse conditions yet - a less than competent chairman, a hotel that's extremely touchy about corkage, a con suite that might actually have *beds* in it, and a kosher crowd that seems to think I should be in charge of meals as well as snacks. Although I think I made it clear that I won't be. We'll bring enough food for ourselves for the weekend, and then what ever happens, happens.

Because I can't think right now at all. I don't even know how many bags of potato chips to buy.
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