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

Family Dinner

Since 1987, when my husband Michael and I packed up our baby son and drove from San Francisco, across the United States to live back in the great state of New Jersey... we have had a tradition of the Family Dinner with my parents.

At first, it was just natural.  We lived in their house while we were looking for a new home, so every night was family dinner.  Actually what I remember most was keeping my two cats locked upstairs in what used to be a playroom (now my mother's art studio) and our beloved 5:00 cocktail hour when my husband and my dad would both come home from work and we would meet in the kitchen for martinis and laughs about the day with our  joyful toddler Zachary bouncing from one person's arms to the next.

Soon we were in our own home, with our daughter Maddie joining the family; my brother had moved to the area as well soon to start a family of his own. Family dinners were usually on Sunday nights.  We chose places which were kid friendly.  I remember that Chinese food was a favorite of ours.  There was also a deli we loved.  We had a pizza place we adored, and it was there, a few years later,  having pizza and a great antipasto when we got the phone call that my niece Talia was born!

We meet and share the news the of the week.  New jobs, new boyfriends and girlfriends (the kids, not the adults... don't worry!), house troubles.  The snow.  The rain. The hurricane.  If the weather is terrible we meet for dinner.  If the weather is great... we meet for dinner.  We bring sad news, and we bring great news.  Heavy news and frivolity.  We laugh and we  are sometimes loud. We sometimes change seats before dessert.  We sing Happy Birthday in Hebrew.  Jacob and Ben, the same age, would sword-fight with tooth-picks when they were little.  Then, in the blink of an eye, they were already in the "sneak-texting" phase!

And before we knew it, our first was grown and off to college, and the reservation was for 10 and not 11 anymore.   And more often than not, the kids had things to do, rehearsals, social engagements, homework.   And just this September, the last grandchild, little Talia went to college.  Family dinner is just six of us, my parents, my brother and his wife, my husband and me.

We went out to dinner last night.

My brother chose sushi, because it was his birthday... 5 days ago.

As we order I think about all the years of the family dinners.  My husband isn't here because of work. The kids are all off, three are in college, two of mine are already through with school and on their own. October has been a rough month for me and I am somewhat pensive.

My parents are through with the menu and my sister-in-law and I are ready to order.

My brother pours some sake into his glass while we wait for the waitress.

He starts a story.

"When I was in London, sushi was very rare."
"Too bad," Dad says, not missing a beat, "because it should have been raw!"

While we are laughing over this I get a text.  As impolite as it is, I secretly check my phone at the dinner table.  It's a photo of my three kids.

They are having family dinner at my daughter's house tonight in Cambridge.  They know I love a good selfie, so they sent it to me before they cleaned up the dishes.

I see they sent it to my husband who clumsily tries to send back a smiley but sends the angry face emoji by mistake.

I smile, and I hear myself laugh.  I look up and see my brother has caught me "sneak-texting" on my phone.  I slip it back in my pocket.

Surrounded by love, I get back to the family dinner. (Insert happy emoji here.)

Barr Family Reunion

I arrived at #5 Seabreeze last Saturday in my shiny red Prius cranking "Little Deuce Coup" with my 26 year-old son in the passenger seat.  We were the last to arrive actually and squeezed the tiny car into the last remaining spot, bounded out of my tightly packed car to welcoming arms.  Literally.  Hugs and kisses, smiles and laughter greeted us.  Even from those we had seen just yesterday.

It's the Barr Family reunion at Old Orchard Beach.  We wouldn't miss it for anything. And except for 2 summers, we haven't missed it in something like 32 years.  (I'll be happy to correct that number, but I am pretty sure that's about right.)  My in-laws and their four sons, their wives, and kids have all gotten together on this beautiful beach for a week at the end of July or beginning of August.  What we have is uniquely ours and incredibly special.  We've shared more laughs and yes, some tears, than most families do.  We repeat the same stories, and they are still funny. AND they're becoming the kids' stories now!

It's Friday afternoon, and our week here is coming to an end.  A few of the family members have left already.  We're doing laundry and eating up the leftovers today.  About an hour ago we said good-bye to the youngest member, sweet cousin Zoe, just two now. As she waved bye-bye to Nana, clutching her Cookie Monster doll and talking about eating "sushi at the airport" we all tried to smile, but it was not so easy when we saw the tears in Nana's eyes.

We will have one more family dinner tonight and maybe walk down to the pier for ice cream if it doesn't rain.  We will all pack up our cars and suitcases, and spend the next few weeks emailing and facebooking our memories and photos back and forth.  But the bigger picture is the imprint that this ritual has made on our lives, not that we did it this year, but that we've been doing this every year.

We taught our children that no matter how busy we were, this week was the most important week of the year.  We came to Maine right after babies were born, or when babies were soon to be born!  We came to Maine instead of going on a honeymoon! (And by the way, Michael, I would like to remind you that you still owe me a romantic get-away...)  We went to Maine when we had very little money to spend on any other vacation.  And we came up here when I had just finished my cancer treatments.  I did not even know yet if I was cancer free, and I was very weak and tired.  But I did know that I wanted to be surrounded by family, and love, and lots of energetic children.

Since I am writing this blog from the kitchen table of the beach house and not from my desk at home, I can't post lots of photos from the last 30 plus years, but please use your imagination.  Picture toddlers playing in the sand.  Little children laughing on kiddie rides at the pier.  Shots of sand castles that all look alike even though every year we exclaim, "THIS is our best one EVER!!"  And all of us laughing over cheese and crackers during cocktail hour.  The inevitable lobster fest, with my brother-in-law and me listening to Sugar Magnolia as we crack open the leftovers for lobster rolls the next day.

And then picture me again, not aging a bit of course, with the biggest smile on my face, wishing it would never end.

Good -bye for this year, Old Orchard Beach, and beloved extended Barr Family.  I'll see you all again next year, and I'll miss you until then.

I'll try to add more photos to this blog as I download them from my camera.  

Post script: as I finished writing this, and family returned from various outings, I posted the blog...asked for feedback, got a hug from my sister-in-law, and threats not to post any pix that were unflattering of anyone! A few minutes later, cousin Debbie, who actually lives here, came to say good-bye, with a fresh baked challah. With that I took out the Shabbat candles, and my brother-in-law got the last and best bottle of red wine, and we welcomed Shabbat as a family. 

The cars a loaded now and I have to go. But I just thought you'd like to know. 

August 2014:

I sat down to write about this summer at the beach, and I realized I had written these thoughts before. So instead, I'll repost, with a few additional thoughts after another great week!

Tradition!
As I mentioned above, we calculated that we have been coming to Old Orchard Beach for 32 years now.  We have only missed two summers in all that time.  Some of them stand out.  The summer after my husband and I got married (actually it was the week after we got married) we earned the only room with a double bed.  It was, after all our honeymoon.  (How many of you took your honeymoon with your in-laws, three brothers, two sisters-in law, and a baby nephew?)  One summer we rented a house where the walls didn't go all the way up to the ceiling, so you could hear absolutely everything everyone said in the house.  That was neat. There was the summer it was so unbearably hot, no one could sleep. And the summer it was freezing cold the entire time ... oh wait, that's every summer. 
Some things have changed.  No more buckets of toys, and boxes of videos.  And crates of cassettes tapes. I still ambitiously bring three books, this year I nearly finished one, which is a record for me lately.  Gameboys have given way to iPods and iPads.  My mother-in-law has finally allowed us all to participate in the kitchen so she can sit and relax and enjoy the company.

Three generations in the kitchen. 

The House Itself

First, let me say it's really quite a little house.

I posed the house next to my Prius to give you perspective.  Inside we sleep 9 or 10 adults.  We used to fit more of us, but at a certain point people started to care about little things like privacy, sleeping past 6:30 am, and having hot water for showers. So some of the grown kids opt for the hotel down the street.
It's decorated in "down the shore decor" of timeless lime green and sea foam blue that we really have gotten used to by now. What hit me a few years ago what that the photos of the owners children are still the same baby pictures as when we started renting this house 8 or 9 years ago.  I wonder what would happen if I surreptitiously replaced those outdated photos with our family photos.  (Here we have Uncle Ronald, eating a lobster.  Here we have Aunt Jean, working on a jigsaw puzzle...  all in those dorky tiny nautical frames they have all over the living room.  You get the idea.)


The Salami
A few years ago, when one brother couldn't make it, he sent a deli salami from LA to our beach house. My father-in-law got very excited about this, and missed several beach days, sitting in the driveway on his beach chair waiting for the UPS truck to come for this hard salami delivery.  No once can deny it was delicious.
The next year, the prodigal brother came to the beach with two salamis in tow.  And they were devoured.  But the following year, I guess he got busy, and forgot.  And I do believe that was the year my father-in-law stopped smiling, and the weather turned bad, and the kids got cranky, and well, things just weren't right.  So, I am now the provider of the salami.  I order two of those bad boys from Katz's Deli in NYC, have them delivered to my house, where I bring my lawn chair out to my driveway and wait for them to arrive.  This year the second one made it almost until our last day of vacation.

The Family Portraits

I could not get my father-in-law to smile, or even look at the camera, to the delight of his sons.

Three blessed kids, with their parents and both sets of grandparents. Aug 1, 2014. Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

The Cousins!  We are missing a few this year, and truly hope they make it next summer!
Photo credit: Vicki Barr

1983- do you like the leg kick? Or Adam's photobomb?

I guess we went out for dinner.  Once. Also, 1983,

2010

1996 - the first year we started taking this kind of photo