End of Summer.

An acquaintance posted this bit from a New York Times newsletter this morning, which she said "really says it all":

Greetings from the middle of a strange holiday weekend. It was meant to be, for some of us, the end not just of unofficial summer but of many of the protocols meant to keep us safe from the coronavirus — a time to return to commuting, perhaps to an office, to the rhythms of what passed for normal life back in 2019. Until it wasn’t. We’re still masking, still anxious about breakthroughs, still unsure what’s going to happen with the children’s schooling, still worried about the future, still unsettled in the present.

Labor Day Weekend is a reset, generally. This year, the button will not click.

Today is the first Sunday of the month, and last month was the first time since March 2020 that there was a brunch at my friend William's house.  He called on Wednesday evening to say that with the numbers rising again, he decided to cancel this month, and we'll see what happens next month.  My guess is that with the colder weather coming, he won't attempt a brunch again until spring.

I'd planned to do an apple upside-down honey cake, because tomorrow begins Rosh Hashonnah, which is the start of the Jewish new year.  Many of you may remember that I began the mini-resolutions because it can be hard to promise something for a year, or the rest of your life, but you can do it for a month.  Recently mine have mostly been a ticklist of whether I have accomplished any of the ones I originally proposed, or made any headway.  Headway = yes; accomplishment = no.