Ahhhh....the time of year has come that excites both old and young (or most old that is, unless you are so bahumbug as to not see through a young one's eye anymore). You can't help but think back to how you've grown up and some of your own traditions. Halloween....brrrrrrr.....that's what I remember first. Then I remember making costumes with my friends and going out in a bunch of homemade, creative, lucky if they make it through the night before falling apart costumes. Love it. It was so hard to wait until we finished dinner to go. But then, mom going to the drawer where we kept the flashlight meant, we were off momentarily.
Next - Thanksgiving. Ahhh...the smells that permeate the house. Mom made everything, and I mean everything! A feast. My Uncle Jeff, (Aunt) Miss Marilyn, Mom, Dad, Liisa, and of course my maternal grandparents, Nanny and Grumpie (yes, we really did call him Grumpie - well, he was!) would come for a nice early, long drawn out eating event. Liisa and I would fight over who got to sit next to Miss Marilyn and we would eat until at least one of us had to undo the top button of our pants. An affliction we affectionaly referred to in our house as "over the belt". "How ya feelin' ?". "I'm over the belt" would be the reply after dinner.
We weren't a big group but I always remember alot of laughter. It would seem there were many more there than listed above if judged solely on the noise level. And actually, each year we would have a rotating bonus guest. Marilyn has 4 siblings and it was always a treat when one of them would come along. The house was loud, warm and smelled delicious. We had dogs and cats running around. I can't think of a better time. And have I mentioned the laughter? :-)
Now...the holiday of all holidays! Christmas was upon us. Mom started taking things down soon after Thanksgiving to make room for the Christmas decorations! Oh how I loved that. We would tromp down to the musty basement (we grew up on the east coast - we did actually have a basement!), dig around the big oil drum that held the oil to heat our house (it was a house built in the late 1800's) and bring up soggy boxes of decorations. Mom put on Christmas music and sang in her operetic voice to anything that came on. Rudolph in opera voice, Frosty in opera voice and my personal favorite, the Little Drummer Boy in opera voice.
Every year we would go cut a Christmas tree with a family that my dad grew up with. They had two daughters as well, about our age. It was just dads and daughters most years. It's actually one of my only memories of an activity without mom. Mom, for the most part, was the active one in our lives.
Before we would head out, we'd have some lunch and after lunch settled, we'd spread the handmade afghan on the floor as the "wrestling mat". You see, my dad's friend, Mr. Valentine (we were never allowed to call grown ups by their first name back then) was the wrestling coach in a neighboring town. We'd each get down in the wrestling stance and have a go with each other. It usually ended in a giggling fit but the dads liked to show us a new move every now and then and we kids thought it was the bomb.
Then, we'd load up in our separate cars, saws a'packed, and head out to the "Chop your own Christmas tree farm". We'd run from one tree to another, playing hide and seek until we finally stumbled upon, and agreed upon, the perfect one. Every year we would bring home a perfectly shaped tree. Until it was in the living room that is. Never fail, we would have to chop off part of the bottom as it was too big to fit in the room. Then we would rotate and nudge until that one little bare spot we'd missed was perfectly hidden. Although, in retrospect, we didn't really need to hide those bare spots as the tree was covered in decorations, and, aghast, TONS of hanging tinsle. That was our favorite part - the tinsle.
Of course we couldn't decorate until the tree had "settled" as my parents called it. My sister and I decided that "settled" and "torture" had the same meaning. Not to worry, Mom made good use of our time and put us on light bulb duty. We'd lay out the Christmas lights (big colorful bulbs) and see which bulbs didn't work. How is it that just laying in a box for a year could blow so many lightbulbs? I think perhaps that's a mystery that goes hand in hand with, "where do all the socks go in the dryer?"
How my mom put up with all the scary things my sister and I wanted to do to that poor, loved tree, I will never understand. She's a saint. And, lest you forget, the Christmas music was a'blarin the whole time. Records. Yes, records back then. Eeek...I'm sounding old. Errr...cassettes were out, uhhh...we just chose to use the vinyl....I mean records....I mean classics. Yeah, that's what it is. Tradition you know.... :-)
Now, I have my own family. A bigger, more joyous, and well, more Jewish family. To me, it means more celebrations, more traditions, and even more laughter in the home. Alan, for the most part, has embraced my family's traditions (although the Christmas tree tradition was a bit hard at first. We had to work up from the Christmas bush to an actual tree....) and I like to think that I've embraced his family's traditions. I've got alot to learn about Judaism and often refer to my "Judaism for Dummies" book and several others I've found helpful. I find the whole religion facinating though. I didn't grow up religious and have often thought if I had to pick a religion, I'm glad Judaism has, in a way, picked me. It was the nudge I needed to explore my own spirituality more than I would have on my own. And, I'm glad that our children, who will grow up Jewish, will have this foundation on which to call from at those times in their lives when they feel particularly challenged. Especially as they grow older and, god forbid, mommy and daddy aren't as influential as we once were. I'd like to think that we are creating an environment in which they can find a mentor to lead them as life becomes grey.
I've digressed. Tradition. Yes, what got me thinking was the pictured fish lips. These are a direct result of my sister. She has passed this face down to Kiira. They spent a whole visit perfecting this look. This is a face that I could never do well. Now, it will live on and be passed from generation to generation - gasp!. Look next for the Kimble. This is a White tradition and will be passed from generation to generation as well. Yes, that too is a silly face :-) .
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