And the birds flew right by and the earth made them sing
I spent the first half of Valentine's Day unromantically fulfilling some medical errands and then trying to sleep off a migraine, but in the evening I made keyn-ahora plans with
rushthatspeaks and
spatch and I ordered an accidentally four-person quantity of dinner from Chivo and watched Tales of the Tinkerdee (1962), an early fractured fairy tale of a Muppet curio whose relentlessly older-than-vaudeville gags we frequently missed from still laughing at a line about three jokes earlier. "A solid ruby gold-panning inlaid electric-fried antique!" After that I fell asleep on the couch.

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I have no idea where the spelling I use originally came from. Leo Rosten? Phyllis Gotlieb? One of my grandparents? It's apotropaic—קײן עין־הרע—so when interjected as here it would be something like fingers crossed, don't jinx it. Normally used for more serious praise, news, or intentions than a potential day out with my husband and his child, so not entirely serious, but not entirely unserious either considering how my life feels these days.
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Just macaronic Yiddish!