I learned to compress files using the compressed folder method in XP. I didn't even know there was such a thing until today, but it proved useful.
Because even gmail (or maybe yahoo, the destination server) can't handle a file as big as all the 718 (Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, Staten Island) do not call numbers. And I needed to zip the file to send it to someone.
I argued with my husband about tonight's concom meeting.
I need soda or coffee or something.
On a more positive note:
Last night, I got together with the ladies of my Shabbat afternoon Torah class. I've described these ladies before - most are at least ten years older than I am, are mothers (even grandmothers), have religious backgrounds and are the daughters of survivors. Otherwise, they're all very different - some cover their hair, some don't, some are professionals, others are not, and one or two even like sf and fantasy, although they're all a bit frightened of the internet.
I think they're wonderful and I enjoy my Shabbos afternoons with them as we take it in turn to teach the current week's Torah portion. That I've had very different life experiences than they have has not been a problem, unless they read letters about the glory and wonder of giving birth, but, you know, this happens.
We meet every week in the home of a long-term friend of mine. She doesn't always participate - often she's napping or taking care of the current baby or even going to other commitments while we do the class. She also refuses to teach. It doesn't matter - we're a group because of her and we meet because of her. And she's making aliyah. They leave for Israel (in her case, going home in more than a religious sense, since she was born there.) in July. So we had a dinner in her honor.
The restaurant, a dairy Italian place on Coney Island Avenue, was crowded and noisy, so when I apologized for not preparting a d'var, a talk, they said it was all right. And we chatted as best we could and the food was fine (not the best, but not bad) and it quieted down, so I took out my PDA and wrote a little something anyway, and then someone else made a toast and said pretty much what I was going to say. This was *fine*. I was off the hook. And then they asked me to speak anyway, so, under protest, I did.
We'll rotate the meeting places in other women's houses now. And that will be fine, but it won't be the same. It doesn't matter - we ARE a group. We've even attended two weddings within the group, and at least one bar mitzvah, and they went to my siyyum last year.