Having lived my entire life on the East Coast, I was dismayed about having to adjust to Central Standard Time.  I’d have to think twice before calling my family and friends at night.  All the television shows would be over before I was ready to watch.  It was just another reminder of how I’d be perpetually behind the New York action, every minute of every day.

This was all before I realized that Central Time means that cocktail hour arrives earlier.  Every single day.

It’s a myth that Jewish women don’t drink.  We do.  We’re not known for it in the way we’re stereotypically known for things like shopping and nagging, but there are many of us who indulge (in moderation, yes) with some regularity.

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Sunday evenings are family time.  It’s the one evening a week where there’s no homework, no softball practice, no Hebrew school or ballet, no rushing around trying to be in two places at once.  It’s a time to relax together as we catch our collective breath for the week to come.
 
This also means it’s Chinese food time.

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Before I moved to Missouri, I wondered about many things. I wondered if my kids would make friends. I wondered if my husband would like his new job. I wondered if I’d feel perpetually disoriented and never know where I am.

It never occurred to me that I’d spend all these months wondering when I am. 

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Last August, after living in Missouri for exactly three weeks, I felt it was time for a getaway. Labor Day weekend was approaching, and we New Yorkers are accustomed to leaving town on long holiday weekends. We go to the Hamptons, the Berkshires, the Poconos, the Catskills, the Wherevers. 

This time, we went to the Ozarks. The Concord Hotel it wasn’t (i.e. Dirty Dancing). Not many Members of the Tribe. They had a Labor Day barbecue and roasted a whole pig, head and all, which the hotel staff displayed proudly at the entrance to the buffet line.

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Are you watching all the good new TV shows?  That Dynasty-esque soap Revenge?  The Dustin Hoffman horse racing HBO drama?  That new NBC Broadway smash called...Smash?

I’m not.  I can’t work my TV.

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