Well, tempers flared today between my landlord and my husband. Surprisingly, for two Israelis, the sound of their "discussion" only fell just short of Mars. The root of the various beefs on both sides, was of course gelt, or rather, the handling thereof. The short version of the story is that my husband is royally peeved, and wants us to move.
You know, there was a time in my life when I moved so often that my friends tore through the page in their address books (yes, I am dating myself) because they had to continually erase my entry. When I was 23 (ah, youth!), I set a personal record: 8 times in 12 months. Basically I had zero mazel finding an even remotely sane roommate, although to be fair, I was living on the West Coast. Those days of streamlined living, when I could through my entire life's contents into the back of a Honda Civic Hatchback, are long gone. More to the point, the sense of elation I often felt upon opening the door to my fresh, new digs has evaporated. Instead, when my husband voiced his vehement opinion that we should get a "better" place, and I was able to detect that he actually meant it (versus attributing it to his Israeli temper), I cringed.
Thankfully, my landlord et al will be away for Shavuos. Perhaps some dairy and a whole lot of Torah will assuage my husband by the time the landlord returns. If not, at least the dairy will lull him into a good mood. As for me, I have not been particularly looking forward to the chag, oddly enough. I think that is simply a case of utter exhaustion on my part. Hopefully some R&R tonight after my husband and father-in-law go to all-night learning will put me in the proper frame of mind. Then again, I did historically go with my father, olev hashalom, to all-night learning. And it is his mother's yartzheit tonight, aka my namesake's. So maybe it has something to do with that. All I can say is, I am beginning to feel grateful for yizkor; it gives me the outlet on each chag that I need to ball my eyes out. In honour of his memory, that is.
I suppose ultimately that is the purpose of the vanilla ice cream in my freezer: to celebrate the chag, while simultaneously tipping my emotional hat to those who came before.