(photo by me. the making of the art)

how to make parsnip latkes.

if something doesn’t work or breaks, it doesn’t really matter, and you don’t need to buy a new version or edition of it; wear socks on your hands instead of gloves, keep your backpack closed with a belt, and make notes on tea bags.

how to begin to think about excessive guilt and painfully exaggerated conscience, and

to tell someone something as honestly as I can without being upset;

that something can feel wrong because it isn’t beautiful—

where the limits of propriety can lie for me, and where they perhaps could lie.

what my internal, biological challah-rhythm is (when the freezer begins to look half-full, mostly void of plastic bags with frozen bread, rolls, pastries…).

that home can be something very private and sacred i often want to keep to myself, and

that i need to take days off, and that this doesn’t make me a very productive person by my american standards. i love weekends and holidays a little too much, because they make work joyful, too.

that more people care about and love you than you might think.

(more of the art being in the made)