My Passover dinners used to be extravaganzas. Maybe that's an exaggeration but they were important and big events for me. Upwards of twenty-five guests, the dinner table would be cobbled together using three tables and a desk. Different table heights be damned! I always hoped the varying colored and styled tablecloths were viewed as eclectic and not haphazard. I had enough dishes, having inherited China from my grandmother and great aunts over the years. They didn't match either but they were cool. Wedgewood, Lenox, Royal Copenhagen. My silverware had belonged to my mother's best friend, Carol Singer, who passed away. There was never enough of the right sized glasses but there was plenty of wine so no one seemed to mind sipping cabernet from a juice glass. Holy days are about getting together and sharing our faiths, our traditions, and a whole lot of food and drink. The more the merrier, I used to think. But as the years went on, life shifted, dad passed away, old friends moved on and......

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