the most wonderful time of the year

Do you think one day we’ll say, Remember that time we bought a menorah and a Christmas tree?

It’s one first for each of us.

He got tinsel, colored lights, and a Mets ornament. I arranged the candles so they alternate, blue and white.

Happy Holidays, guys.

I go with C-h-a-n-u-k-a-h, to emphasize the CHHHHHHH.

Yeah. . . if you aren’t Jewish, spelling it with the C can look a little pretentious. But I guess I can learn to spell it your way; I have a menorah.



what you give and what you get

It was a sad story. Really tragic, I thought when the show was over.

The cool, calm voice of my mother, embedded in my head, replied, It wasn’t a sad story. She went back to her husband and her life. She went back to her family. She did what she should do.

Years after it happened, my mom told me that one day she put my four-year-old self and my baby brother in our old brown station wagon and drove away. My dad was working, either at his regular job or the rapidly failing business that once-friends had abandoned to him. She left forever, but she had no cash and knew the credit cards wouldn’t work. She was running out of gas and didn’t want to end up, embarrassed and un-pitied, at her parents’. She didn’t know where else to go, so she went back home.

It’s the stuff Oprah’s Book Club is made of.

I don’t remember it.

It’s not a sad story, it turns out. It’s a story about responsibility and obligation and enduring.

My parents have been at the coast, odd for the middle of the week. My mom took a nap on a friend’s yacht and my dad caught the biggest fish she’s ever seen. She had to get off the phone so she could get back to shopping for beach houses before dinner.

It’s a story about rewards.