1. 22 December 2009 ยท 11:55 PM
    Hanukkah just ended a few days ago. I was sick all week, so I didn’t make latkes till last night (bad Jew!). When I started frying the potato pancakes, Jeff teased me about being all geeked up for the meal. I told him it’s one of the few holiday traditions I have, so I don’t want to miss out. He can have ketchup on his latkes if he wants — anything goes at our table — but I will have applesauce, sour cream, and memories of trekking through the darkness on snowy back roads to my cousins’ house for latke parties. There’s no snow in Houston, just lots of rain that knocks the leaves off the oak tree in the back yard, but when I light the candles they glow the same as they did on Uncle David and Aunt Cathy’s mantle. It’s quiet in my new neighborhood, but when our friends brought their 1 year-old daughter over this weekend, her giggles reminded me of my baby cousin Sonia and the silly games we made up while she babbled at our feet. Bowling for Nachos was a mashup made up on the spur of the moment at one Hannukah gathering. It was part telethon, part bowling competition, and for some reason we made a pace car for Sonia out of a cardboard box (it’s possible my memories are running together from some other winter afternoon spent at their house). We were trying to raise money so that needy children all over the world could eat nachos whenever they got hungry. Color commentary was provided by me and my twin sister, while cousin Leland was our star athlete. On days like those, my grandmother was visiting from New Jersey, wrapped against the New England chill in Italian wool sweaters and finely woven scarves in paisley or floral patterns. She’d settle in an armchair near the action and just smile at us. I’m not sure whether she was proud of or amused by our creativity. This month, with her 90th decade not far away, she finally gave up living on her own and moved to an assisted-living community in Vermont, where she’s closer to my aunts and uncles. When she moved, she sent me a selection of artwork and other pieces from her old apartment. That’s her menorah in the left of the photo. When I unwrapped it from the box of mementoes she sent, it reminded me that at holiday times we’re never far from each other, as long as we keep our traditions going. So happy Festival of Lights, everyone, and happy holidays to come.

    Hanukkah just ended a few days ago. I was sick all week, so I didn’t make latkes till last night (bad Jew!).

    When I started frying the potato pancakes, Jeff teased me about being all geeked up for the meal. I told him it’s one of the few holiday traditions I have, so I don’t want to miss out. He can have ketchup on his latkes if he wants — anything goes at our table — but I will have applesauce, sour cream, and memories of trekking through the darkness on snowy back roads to my cousins’ house for latke parties.

    There’s no snow in Houston, just lots of rain that knocks the leaves off the oak tree in the back yard, but when I light the candles they glow the same as they did on Uncle David and Aunt Cathy’s mantle.

    It’s quiet in my new neighborhood, but when our friends brought their 1 year-old daughter over this weekend, her giggles reminded me of my baby cousin Sonia and the silly games we made up while she babbled at our feet.

    Bowling for Nachos was a mashup made up on the spur of the moment at one Hannukah gathering. It was part telethon, part bowling competition, and for some reason we made a pace car for Sonia out of a cardboard box (it’s possible my memories are running together from some other winter afternoon spent at their house). We were trying to raise money so that needy children all over the world could eat nachos whenever they got hungry. Color commentary was provided by me and my twin sister, while cousin Leland was our star athlete.

    On days like those, my grandmother was visiting from New Jersey, wrapped against the New England chill in Italian wool sweaters and finely woven scarves in paisley or floral patterns. She’d settle in an armchair near the action and just smile at us. I’m not sure whether she was proud of or amused by our creativity. This month, with her 90th decade not far away, she finally gave up living on her own and moved to an assisted-living community in Vermont, where she’s closer to my aunts and uncles. When she moved, she sent me a selection of artwork and other pieces from her old apartment. That’s her menorah in the left of the photo. When I unwrapped it from the box of mementoes she sent, it reminded me that at holiday times we’re never far from each other, as long as we keep our traditions going.

    So happy Festival of Lights, everyone, and happy holidays to come.

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