I remember the feeling well, although it has been a while – that feeling of being torn, as a young mother, between wanting to go to shul on Rosh Hashanah but not knowing when I should, or even if I should. Although I am not much of a shul goer, it just didn’t feel like Rosh Hashanah if I couldn’t hear shofar blowing in a shul setting or the heartfelt Musaf melodies of my youth. Some years, a neighbor and I would take turns watching each other’s children, giving us both a chance to daven in shul for a short while. To shed light for those women who feel conflicted, as I did, I turned to some of the inspirational rebbetzins with whom Baltimore is blessed for their valued opinions.

“Who made the dessert?” the rebbetzin whispered to me from across the crowded sheva brachos table. We were in the middle of the main course. Did she want to know if it was kosher? I wondered. Little did I realize that she was asking because the dessert was missing! None was to be found in the kitchen! Recognizing an emergency, I quickly checked the text message history on my cell phone to shed light on the subject. It indicated that dessert for the 40 guests had been delegated to a woman sitting at the other end of my table. When I consulted her, she said that the job was originally hers but was then given to someone else. She was not sure to whom.

I’m a born collector. You name it, I’ve probably collected it at one time or another. This lifelong activity started when I was about five years old. I have vivid recollections of digging mica from the dirt surrounding the towering maple tree in our front yard. That experience, no doubt, led to my avocation of collecting gemstones. Around the same time, I started collecting seashells. I couldn’t (and still can’t!) tear myself away from the ocean – most probably because I was spoiled by weekly Sunday family trips to nearby Long Island Sound, where I’d comb the beach for Hashem’s fascinating marine creations. After that, there were collections of butterflies, stamps, coins, autographs, baseball and football cards, record albums, charms, and soda bottle caps, to name just a few. And I can still feel those highly polished chestnuts, abundant each autumn, that I gathered in a large brown paper bag in the nearby park.

 As I sit in my terrarium-like cubicle at Star-K Kosher Certification, trying to think how to best describe working here before Pesach, I can’t help but think of a beehive. Although the first Seder is just three weeks from tonight, and a lot of you are just now seriously cracking down on preparing for the “P-word” (with the exception of one fellow who came to sell us his chometz on February 18, because he was heading for Israel and staying through Pesach!), here at work, we have been preparing for Pesach 5774/2014 since a week after Pesach 5773/2013. And we will continue to help our Kashrus Hotline callers, emailers, and texters to the last minute possible, even past candle lighting (but before shkia, sunset) on the first Seder night.

Sara R, of Baltimore, has been making Pesach for 30 years, and by now she has it down to a science. The key, she says, is planning ahead and being organized, thinking about where you have to end up and deciding how you are going to get there.

“Get a calendar and work backwards,” says Mrs. R, whose Pesach cleaning schedule begins around Tu B’Shevat. “Your start time should depend upon how busy your household is, whether or not you work outside the house, how many children you have, and how much time you will need.”

“First, decide which day you want to start cooking, then plan to clean the kitchen a few days before you cook. Plan to clean the dining room a few days before that. You have to be realistic, though, regarding how much time you have and how long it takes to clean. For example, if you are working full time, you may need to allow more time.” She advises against scheduling your pre-Pesach chores very tightly, to allow for emergencies and catch up time.

I never want to retire. I have loved writing ever since I was eight years old, when I started to keep a journal and write poetry. It must be genetic. My father could not tolerate being unproductive. After retiring from the meat business, he drove a van for emotionally-challenged adults, until a fall on the ice caused a severe knee injury. That did not stop my father from coming out of retirement, once more. In fact, he died just days after he began volunteering in a hospital medical records department!

It seems that I am not alone. Whether fellow baby boomers