Sunday for me neatly paralleled the experience of the Rapids. It was the day before Passover, which for observant Jews involves a massive effort of cleaning, moving, cleaning, boiling, burning, and cleaning. That often involves mishaps.
In the morning, with the oven on self-cleaning high blast, I tried to put something in, and burned the living hell out of my right fore-arm. Midday, I was responsible for taking my in-laws to brunch, because it was my mother-in-law’s 70th birthday. I had to take care of my wife’s family and the kids and the Passover cleaning solo, because my wife, the defensive lynch-pin of the family, was in Boston at a conference.