Homemade loveys, Cartagena, and Tashlich

So, since last time, M and I went to Colombia (that’s right, not the university in NY that my parents somewhat recently said goodbye to without a backward glance, but the country that used to be famous for drugs), leaving the kids for a week with a trusted friend, H broke her arm before we had been gone more than 36 hours, said trusted friend of course dealt with the situation with grace and style, as did H and her sisters, we have had 10 million Jewish holidays, kids have all started school, and we got to do Sukkot on the Farm with no babies!

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This here is H’s broken arm on one side, and her lovey (that she made almost entirely herself!) on the other.

Below is Nitzi’s (lovey, not arm).

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As for Colombia, I kept a pretty detailed account of our trip. I won’t post it here, but if you’d like to read it, please let me know and I’ll make that happen. Special thanks to Sally for being on the receiving end of my trip thoughts and reactions. In short, it was super fun and exciting. We met some very interesting people, got to practice lots of Spanish, learned a lot about the way of life there, managed to get off the tourist path (despite many well-meaning people’s best efforts), and had a vacation! Also, M dressed up and gave a talk about why his company is successful. Here’s proof that he cleans up well:

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Some pictures from our exploration of the cuevas de manglar, or mangroves.

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And the market, which we were warned many many times was dangerous, but wasn’t actually dangerous at all. Except that you could slip.

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We also spent some time in Getsemani, an area that was until recently pretty seedy and is now on the fast road to becoming gentrified. There is a vibrant art scene there, a lot of it trying to preserve the history, almost all of it political. We saw some of the murals and graffiti that abounds. Here is a taste.

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Okay, a bit of a large taste. And a beautiful storm, scary to 50% of us.

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And we have a first day of school H, here. The night before school started she asked M to shave her head. Almost.

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(that was us, still on vacation)

We decided to forgo (total aside here, if you want to know the difference between forego and forgo, click here) any sort of synagogue this Rosh HaShanah, and did our own thing, hiking down to the river and cleaning our slates there. (Craig, this look familiar at all?!)

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Then, on the way back H helped N cross the river,

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and then somehow, N turned into a statue, and so H had to carry “her statue” up the mountain. And if you want to know about that steep mountain, just ask my friend Craig. But H insisted her statue had not yet learned how to walk uphill, so carrying her was the only option.

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I’m learning that I like the holidays better when I do them my way/our way, which does not always coincide with the traditional way.

And if the rabbit doesn’t eat its toes before the weasel runs to get cheese, next time I will tell you all about Sukkot and the awesomeness we got to have.