night of 7/24/12

We young teenagers in the neighborhood--and some of the smaller kids, too-are taking turns racing down a dry, bumpy decline, on some kind of saucer or skateboard. The neighborhood is out on a warm evening and chatting. The sled turns out not to be hard for me to control, and I tend to win the races.


The party migrates gradually down the grassy suburban block. Most kids stay to race a little more and then trickle over. [cut]

I rejoin he crowd sullen, and someone with me tells Janine that I didn't win, I "placed." J-- makes a sympathetic face. I tell her no, that was wrong: I didn't even place at all. J-- winces. She doesn't care whether I win, but knows it hurts me to lose.

Most are trickling home as the sky darkens. The rest of us have arrived in front of a Jewish temple. It is not a synagogue but a kind of indoor garden, where each member houses and tends a small symbolic plant on the rows of shelves. Many of the neighbors are members. They allow Gentiles to partipate. I'd thought all the slots were full but it turns out there is one left, and I quickly sign up. (They tell me to write the check to "Beth Israel 30 years old.")

Short shelves girdle the small temple, holding small boxes and plastic bags. There is one empty. I am given some nutritive soil and seeds, and then some shoots already begun growing. I seal the bag and replace it on the shelf. I feel better.