This Rosh Hashanah will be about wiping the slate, and possibly the server, clean
Every year we talk about it. Wiping the slate clean. It’s a tradition we started when Sara was very young. As Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, approaches we put our own touches on the holiday by re-thinking what a personal clean slate might look like.
This year, my daughter outdid herself. If you think I’m going to gush on about her virtues, you’d be wrong. After listening to me groan about how the emails on my computer had gone bonkers, as in I couldn’t find, retrieve or send any, she decided to try to remedy the problem.
In a scenario reminiscent of the Mother’s Day when she was five years old and brought her night owl mom an early morning toast in bed service, she entered my bedroom shouting, “Surprise!” It wasn’t actually a shout, but more of a gleefully raised voice. First of all, I’m suspicious of anyone who can be that perky at 6 am. Was she really related to me?
Looking very pleased with herself, Sara announced that, even though she’s not really tech-savvy, and even though my computer is totally different from hers, she was pretty sure she had figured out the problem. So she had deleted my email program and was waiting for the computer to reboot so she could reinstall it.
I could feel the blood drain from my face when she said the word “delete.”
“You don’t mean you deleted all my emails from the past 10 years?”
“Don’t worry, mom; I’m just getting the bugs out. It will be fine as soon as I reinstall it.”
Except it wasn’t. Instead of the emails reappearing, we received a message from the server that I now had a new email address. Patriciabunin@currently.com
Really? Currently, I have nothing. If anyone wants to send me mail at that address, have at it. I have no idea how to retrieve it. And in case I haven’t mentioned it, I have no email program.
Whatever I had planned to say to my daughter disappeared as I watched her face fade from smile to horror. “Oh no!” she shrieked. That about covered it for both of us.
As she was telling me how sorry she was, I had a flashback to a Rosh Hashanah when she was very young. She was seated next to me at services in our synagogue, entertaining herself by carefully stacking yarmulkes. I remember looking at her and thinking, “I’m so glad we’re a family, you and I.”
That pretty much trumps everything.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net and follow her on Twitter @patriciabunin