Before Yom Kippur

It has been a day of clearing-up:  Netanel had helped me gather into the car loads of equipment that had been gathering dust in the basement...turntables, speakers, video equipment, wires, wires, wires.  My beloved loved messing with all those things; when he was young, his son Barya called him something like "abba-rabbi-fixer-man".  Some of these things had been there since the flood a few years ago; some had been there longer.
Most of it was happily received by the Hospice Thrift Shop; the video equipment will go to Goodwill tomorrow.

I was honored this evening by the yearly visit of a wonderful person who had met Zalman when she was a very young woman.  She would visit him on her rare trips to Boulder, and I am glad and honored that she continues visiting me.  Her hostess knows me as well, and the three of us, one friendly seen-eye dog, observed by two distant and shy cats, sat over GF crackers, Irish cheddar, and her marvellous homemade pesto, visting and catching up.  It has become a welcome ritual at the start of a new year.
(It is always interesting---and sometimes painful---to discover who has seen me as an appendage to my beloved, and who relates to me as myself.  The former have more or less disappeared since his death; I have  been grateful for the friendship and support of those who have been present to me-as-myself.)

I know that our High Holy Day liturgy asks that a good  year be renewed to us.
This year, I experience that request with a special urgency.
I feel our world so dangerously out-of-kilter, and feel myself personally out-of-kilter as well.
A line of a song by Martina McBride comes tripping through my mind:  "This world's gone crazy, and it's hard to believe/that tomorrow will be better than today;/believe it anyway."  

[And then I remember that once, on a trip without me, Zalman heard her music in a taxi, and asked the driver about it: he thought I might like to perform some of the songs.  He ended up buying the cd from the cabbie, and giving it to me.  Yes, I liked the songs; but I did not learn any of them in time to give him the concrete joy of hearing me perform them.  These are the sort of regrets that make me cry now because it is too late to ever ever repair.  Did I let him know, sufficiently, over the years, how very much I appreciated him?]

I have apologized and asked pardon of people where I have remembered. There may be incidents that I have forgotten.  I remember very little this year, thank G-d, that I am loath to forgive; I'm working on those.  (Up until now, politics has been off-limits, because so far, I have not been able to come anywhere near forgiving some folks.)
As I write, I recall a practice I learned from Mme. Colette, which I taught the year that I led Rosh HaShanah at Rowe.  I need to do that very one myself, now.  It involves first going through the disharmonious incident in my imagination as I remember it happening; next---also in my imagination---getting up and changing places with the other, and experiencing the incident from their place; then returning to my own place, and seeing if I perceive or understand anything differently.  After that, I can know if there is anything I must do now to make repair.

If I have hurt or offended anyone reading these pages during these years, or if perhaps I did not let you know how very much your presence here has held and supported me, encouraged me, and helped me to feel less alone in the world, please find it in your heart to forgive me; and let me know what I may do to make amends.

Blessings.  May we all be sealed in the Book of Life for a good and sweet year.  May our world be blessed with the miracles it needs to survive and thrive.