There are worse ways to spend an evening than listening to Debbie Friedman (spurred to it after a conversation with my mom, who has Friedman’s Misheberach as her ringtone on my phone), contemplating whether it’s time to make a Caesar salad for dinner with the chicken I grilled yesterday and the Romaine I bought Tuesday, skipping back and forth from writing to goofing off online, and waiting for Ted to come home from the business trip he’s been on since Tuesday.

Only issue is that Macchiato-cat either really likes it or really hates it when I sing along; she gets very close and seems to want to nibble on me, which I discourage.