The First (and only) Noel

A True Story.

I have never had Christmas envy.  

Growing up in a Jewish home, we celebrated all the Jewish and American holidays in full style.  We have enjoyed each at its given time, with the proper full table and decorations.  As a little girl, I never dreamed of waking up to see what Santa might have left me, I knew that was for the other kids.  I was happy with my eight nights of Hanukkah, my gelt and dreidels and latkes and knowing I was that anomaly at school who didn't blend in.  

But... one year... things were different.

It was 1969.  That year, my family had moved from Newton Centre, Massachusetts to Cherry Hill, NJ. Shortly after we moved in, we watched with amazement as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. I went from not understanding Red Sox fever to not understanding Mets fever.  (AGAIN with the kids and their transistor radios!)

I was in 4th grade, and my little brother Geoffrey was in 1st. Of COURSE we walked to school, and it was quite a hike.  As we walked along, we met up with our neighbors and friends.  We made friends quickly and summer turned to fall turned to winter.

I remember one very cold and slightly snowy morning, and our usual friends were sparse.  As we approached the "major" intersection where the crossing guard usually protected us from the dozen or so suburban cars, who slowly made their way toward the school, we saw she was not there.  Being the big sister, I took my little brother by the hand when the light turned green.  We boldly crossed, me feeling proud and accomplished.  When we arrived, unscathed at the school, we found, to our delight, it was a snow day!  Our small group turned around and trudged back home, through the inch and a half of accumulated snow, most likely to my mother's chagrin. 

As was the norm back then, the school was decorated beautifully. As you walked into the lobby, there was a huge Christmas tree, and it made the foyer smell great.  The tree had ornaments and lights, and back in those days, that metallic tinsel that came in single shreds. The lobby had other decorations as did every hallway and classroom.  The school was positively festooned with Christmas decorations. 

Was there the obligatory menorah in the lobby?  I doubt it.  Did one or two teachers hang up some Hanukkah decorations?  Maybe. Was there a Kwanzaa candelabra up?  There wasn't even Kwanzaa yet. I don't know what other parents told their children, but I just knew it wasn't my holiday.  I knew when I got home there would be my holiday waiting for me... and it was okay. 

And then, it was time for Christmas vacation.  The school did what they had always done, they entered every child's name into the raffle to see who would get to bring the giant Christmas tree home.  They did not ask who wanted to enter.  They did not consider who might not want a tree, or who might already have one.  And little Juliet Cantor, one of a handful of Jewish children in the school won that Christmas tree.

I didn't think for a second to argue with the principal of the school, or turn down this tree.  At 9 years old, I had not yet even considered standing up to authority, and it was true, we didn't have one...

So.

There I was. 

At 3:30 on a snowy afternoon at the beginning of Christmas break with a giant naked pine tree. 

To my surprise (and probably dismay) winning the Christmas tree did not mean winning any of the lights, ornaments or that pretty tinsel.  The custodians had made quick work of that while we were in our last classes of the afternoon.

I rounded up my friends, which included my boyfriend Andy and his best friend Paul (both Jewish) and little Geoffrey (we let him carry the top of the tree, since he was only 6).  And the four of us schlepped

this thing all the way home. 

As a parent... I can't imagine what I would do if any of my kids EVER came home with a Christmas tree.  But I can tell you what mine did. 

They let me keep it.

My dad configured some kind of stand for it in our den.  And I was allowed to make decorations for it... origami and snowflakes... and we admired it.  Since we didn't know about watering it, it dried out nicely, dropping its needles all over the place.  My cousin happened to be visiting and he taught me to draw a perfect 5-point star and we colored them in, punched holes, used Mom's yarn to make loops, and hung them up on the tree. Then we taught Geoffrey how to draw Stars of David, as I had just learned in Hebrew school, and did the same with them.  We did not see the irony.  

When Christmas came, there were no presents under that tree.  We didn't hang stockings with care, or leave cookies for Santa.  But for one year, we had that intoxicating scent of pine wafting through the house.  After that, my dad took it outside, chopped it up, and let it dry, and we used it for firewood.  It smelled wonderful in the fireplace.

It's funny to think of it now.  A Christmas tree in our house.  My parents acting like it's no big thing.  And because they acted that way, it wasn't. (Although I did ask if we could buy tinsel and lights, and they said no.) 

When I reminded them of this story, family lore at this point, I asked them if there were photos I could use to enhance the blog. They both looked, but, not surprisingly, there were no photos to be found.

Since that time, we've always enjoyed Christmas as guests, celebrating with others. Enjoying their traditions, foods, stories, and Christmas trees.  And definitely the music.   But that one year was the beginning and end of Noel in our house.

The author, as artistically  "elfed" by @pawhite. 

To read more of my Jewish blogs about Christmas, click on these links:

http://myso-calledblogat.blogspot.com/2013/12/why-theres-plaster-jesus-in-my-basement.html



http://myso-calledblogat.blogspot.com/2011/12/in-memory-of-friend-at-christmas.html

Mother's Day

I vacillate between thinking it's a Hallmark holiday, and a really special day.  In fact, just now when I went to dictionary.com to spell check vacillate, right there, in bold type, it said MOTHER = HERO.  When I clicked on the banner, it showed Rosie the Riveter, with her polka dot shmata on, sleeve rolled up, feminine fist in my face, with the words, "Mother: The Toughest Job Description."*  Think about that ... it doesn't even make that much sense... but don't mess with us anyhow, you wimps. 

Even if you aren't a mom, you have or had a mom.  Most of us can dredge up some sentimentality for our moms on this day, even if their relationships weren't the best.  I'm lucky.  I am a mother, I have known two of my great-grandmothers, both of my grandmothers, and I have a great relationship with my mom, and my mother-in-law.  Did I say I am lucky?  I am extremely blessed. 

I must say though, that the card companies really rake it in... and there were times where I spent the better part, wait, no, the worst part of an hour choosing the right card for the Grandmothers, and the mothers from each of the kids and one from my husband and me... usually with a whiny child in a stroller and another falling apart in the aisle.  A funny one.  A sentimental one.  Too mushy?  Too funny? Is this what I really want to say?  Would my husband like this? What am I thinking...he'll sign whatever I put in front of him.  I'd leave with my $79 worth of cards with pink, peach, and purple envelopes, usually to get home find that at least two didn't fit.  Then to get everyone to sign them and mail them on time.  

My Mom, at 12

Now the great-grandmothers are gone.  The kids do not live here anymore.  I've spent more time on this blog than I will in the card store. 

I'm long past the construction paper cards and the wooden-bead necklaces and paper crowns.   I hope the kids are picking out their own cards... and I just realized how much I miss that time, and my grandmothers too. They'd call the minute they got our cards, exclaiming they were even better than last year, the flowers, even more beautiful. I would gladly trade that miserable hour of standing in the Gold Crown store for a little more time with "Little Grandma" and "Gigi."  Or to hold my hand over my son's as he tried to spell his name in cursive to be fancy for his "Baya."

So aside from the fact that the card stores, the florists,  restaurants cash in on Mother's Day, what can we do to make it less commercial and more meaningful?  For one thing... those of us who live by the Judeo-Christian ethic, and there are one or two, I believe, can validate this holiday as fulfilling half the commandment of honoring your Mother and your Father.  (Obviously the second half to be fulfilled in June.)  I know I honor the memory of my grandmothers and my husband's grandmothers by maintaining the values for which they struggled.  And I think a great way I  honor my mother and my mother-in-law is in the way my husband and I raise our children.  All three show their grandmothers (and grandfathers, but again this is Mother's Day) deep respect and love.  My kids call, text, and Facebook, and yes even visit their grandparents.  Although it's true that the grandparents NEVER see the Facebook messages and probably only see about 1/3 of the texts, they get it.  In fact, its very unlikely they will see this declaration of love to them, unless I print it and bring it over for Sunday brunch.  

I love my mother.  
I love being a mother.
I love that I can see my daughter as a link in an incredibly strong chain of women... but maybe that's for another blog.

So, I'll end with this.  Maybe Mother's Day IS a fabricated scam of a holiday, designed to get you to spend money.  But I just realized that I'm okay with it.  I just realized that I wouldn't trade anything for those precious days when I took off from work to attend a Mother's Day Tea with my third grader's class!  Or when I came home from the a long day of work and there were crepe paper flowers in a hand-painted ceramic pot sitting at my place at the dinner table. 

And for you kids who may be reading this, no matter how old you are, we moms aren't joking when we say we'd rather have a home-made gift than a store-bought one!  So you don't have to buy into the whole commercial "Your Mom Needs A Diamond Bracelet or You Are Crap" business.  Cook something.  Create something.  Send her some new music.  (That might just be me.)

As for this mom?  I want nothing more than to sit a the same table with my three kids, my husband and my parents, and my brother's family, and any other family we can bring together, and have a great meal with some excellent music and a pitcher of  margaritas. Maybe outside! If you want to make me a pink-dyed macaroni necklace, I'll gladly wear that too. 

Happy Mother's Day to all.  

Okay, one more thing... We do like flowers. If you haven't ordered flowers yet, consider going with fair trade this year.  Click here for one link to Fair Trade flowers for Mother's Day.  We moms would appreciate you not exploiting other moms to get us our bouquets.

Alright, another last thing... here's a cute article from the Jewish Forward about Jewish Mothers, put on my Facebook page by my older son.  He had a few pretty funny 6-word descriptions for me... Click Here to open in a new window.

The five of us, in 2011

Me and my mom.  I'm sitting down.  Something funny is going on. 

Mother's Day, 2014... I must be growing up... I would also now welcome a meaningful donation to Mazon, Heifer International, Cancer Care or Shelter our Sisters.

*After going back to do my due diligence  this is a quote from Mary Kay Blakely.