Traditions

We have a tradition on Chanukah to put menorahs in windows on all sides of the house, and then get out and walk around the house, singing and looking at the lights from outside. Since we started doing this, around eight years ago, we have gone out in all types of weather–knee-deep snow, sheets of ice (a bit of a challenge since there’s a hill involved), mud, rain, sleet, blizzards, and clear starry nights. But it is never disappointing, especially with my kids’ exuberant energy; their enthusiasm rears at the bit, even though they’ve reached the attitude-driven teen and post-teen years. And at least that means they’re old enough to make the latkes, and I don’t have to, any more.

It’s been fun having both kids home for the five nights of Chanukah so far, though today they took off for New York. So it will be just my husband me trouncing around the house in a little while. I wonder if it will feel silly, as I don’t think we’ve ever done it without at least our son being there. Our daughter has missed a bunch of Chanukahs, since the holiday’s been earlier the last two years and she was in college, though last year we Skyped her so she could participate virtually. Amazing–the power of technology.

A Chanukah tradition we started this year each night as we opened our presents, was Tzedakah, which means giving to charity. Each night we pick an organization to give money to, and we all contribute. So far, we’ve picked refugee relief in Darfur, Heifer International, a local shelter, an organization where Veterans go into schools to talk about the horrors of war, and Neve Shalom, an organization that brings Jewish and Arab kids and teenagers together for peace programs. We’ll pick the other three when the kids get back on Monday. It will be the end of Chanukah, but there will probably also be a stray present or two to open. I’m delighted with my lined mittens and silk underwear and warm socks–as well as opportunities to connect back with my own teenage years with a DVD of Get Smart and a CD of Cat Stevens–now Yusuf. I wonder if they’ll pack the same umph. I wonder what tradition-laden things my kids will want to remember when they’re my age. I’m hoping that at least one night per year, they’ll circle the house with us, so we can all look at the light.

Happy holidays, everyone!

On Gloss and Loafer Snowflakes

Like most people, I have a love/hate relationship with the snow, yet I am grateful for the reflected light, especially in these dark pre-solstice dates. I am loving the view from my window, the remnants of the storm, the snowflakes that now look like harmless loafers without purpose, falling on my neighbor’s white New England farmhouse. It continues to snow without accumulation, and I feel like these loafer snowflakes–continuing to write without really producing much to talk about or be proud of.

With snow, however, comes ice. Glossy, crisp, and flat. I like to think of ice as the stuff bad writing is made of, though who am I to decide what writing is good and what is bad? I will therefore revise that statement. I like to think of ice as the stuff my bad writing is made of, a substance intensely beautiful but with no permanence. A substance that depends on surfaces. I have been struggling with this surface idea of writing, struggling with plummeting depths, worried that the constant call of my life’s other surfaces, the teacher, mom, house caretaker surfaces will make it impossible to get through that ice.

So, I am going to go back to journaling, to sitting quietly, to worrying less about projects and more about process. I am going to be a loafer snowflake for a while, and I am going to relegate my “ice-life” to afternoons and evenings, claiming the mornings to take that brave plunge into the depths of white out. I am hoping that something will germinate out of this process, though the scariest thing is that it may not. Still, if I learn a tiny bit of patience, it will be well worth it.