The Sentimental Menorah ~ #MondayBlogs

We go about our day, everything is normal, and suddenly something happens to remind us of times gone by and a tear falls…

Last night we lit the first Chanukah candle (there is the Shammos with eight candles, one for each night). To say our prayers and fulfill the mitzvoh (commandment), we light an open flame (in our home, candles) menorah, but we use an electric menorah in the window for display and safety reasons (curtains, shades, etc.).

Let me fill you in on back story here:

My family has the tradition of passing down the candle menorah to the oldest daughter by her first Chanukah in her married home. Somehow my mom received two heirloom menorahs so both my sister and I each received one. By the time I was married, and my parents gave me their second menorah, I wanted to replace a menorah for them; my mom was getting wary of the open flame and when safety is involved adjustments can be made, so I bought them an electric menorah which they used in December 1976.

My dad passed away suddenly in the spring of 1977 and later that year my mom (with the help of her daughters and their husbands) packed up the apartment. There were plans for her to move in with her children, but first she wanted to relax in Florida with her mom. She had a stroke and although we brought her back up north to be close to us, she never was able to come home; Mommy passed away in January 1979.

I’ve used the electric menorah we had given to my folks in my window since 1979. When my children were very young, before college, work and marriage, they used to take turns. One child would pick out the Chanukah candles to be lit in the brass menorah my mom passed along to me and the other child would screw in the correct number of light bulbs for the display. Mark and I have taken over both tasks in the more recent years. When my daughter married in 2007 we replaced the candle menorah for our use as the tradition carried forward.

Yesterday afternoon I took the electric menorah, a white plastic now turned yellow from age, from its box in the closet and hoped that each of the orange bulbs would still light; I plugged it in while standing in the kitchen to check if I had to replace any. All nine of the bulbs lit… then one flamed briefly and before I could pull the plug a circuit breaker switched off and half my kitchen was without power. I called out to my husband that “a fuse blew” (I’m old school and still call it that).

He reset the switch and came upstairs to see what I had done and there I stood just looking at the damaged menorah and, yes, crying quietly. He inspected it and confirmed my fear, the menorah bought 39-years earlier that my parents lit as they shared their last Chanukah together, was done. This simple gift I had given to my parents meant more to me than I ever realized. I mumbled how I had looked for orange light bulbs when I was in the supermarket just in case they were needed, but all that the store had was an LED menorah with little blue lights.

My husband, thinking swiftly, simply said, “Get your jacket on”. He drove us to the store and bought one of those LED menorahs with little blue lights and that is what was displayed in our window for the first night of the festival. Right after we came home and set the new plastic menorah in the window, I set the Shammos and one candle in the “real” menorah and Mark said the blessings as he lit them.

On the first night there are three blessings, the first one is Shehecheyanu where we thank G-d for giving us life and enabling us to reach this season. Seasons come and seasons go; life is forever moving forward. After 39 years the plastic electric menorah that I always thought of as my parents’ menorah has been retired and I admit without shame that I shed some tears as memories flitted through my mind. Now Mark and I will have new memories to make and share with a new display piece.

I hope that your holiday celebrations are fun and festive and whichever holidays or events you observe are warm and fulfilling.

Chag Sameach (Happy Holidays)

My parents' electric Menorah

Traditions ~ #MondayBlogs

Just hearing the word Tradition makes me see and hear Tevye and the Fiddler on the Roof song of the same name.

So what is tradition?

“A tradition is a belief or behavior passed down within a group orsociety with symbolic meaning or special significance with origins in the past…The English word "tradition"comes from the Latin traditio, the noun from the verb traderere or tradere (totransmit, to hand over, to give for safekeeping).” 

We automatically assume that traditions are based in religious or cultural origins and perhaps that was the earliest intent. Traditions provided a form of stability knowing that “this is the way it’s always been done”. A set manner of doing things was handed down from generation to generation and of course there were little variances as each new generation interpreted the purpose as it fit into their current lives. Following tradition takes some of the hard decision making out of our hands, it helps point us in the direction we need to go.

Today the term tradition can refer to less-aged habits – the routine yearly family reunion, the regular candlelit anniversary dinner, the customary college graduation gift and more. Our reminiscences can make our traditions: Sitting and watching the Friday Night Fights with my dad as a child became a tradition; Vacationing at the Jersey shore every summer was a family tradition; and My mom hosting Thanksgiving dinner surrounded by aunts, uncles and cousins was a tradition. Traditions are a way of holding on to something of the past, often it was something that “worked” or left us with warm memories.

“As people are walking all the time, in the same spot, a path appears.” 
~  John Locke

The beauty of our diverse society allows us to see many of our traditions melding together and sometimes forming new ones. We have a chance to learn from others and adapt. I recently heard someone quip about a cultural event (from another culture) as “not traditional”. I laughed. Our comfortable traditions that we grew up with aren’t traditional for other cultures either, it’s like who really is speaking with an accent, it all depends on who is listening.

If you ever have the opportunity to attend an inter-faith ceremony, go to it; you will get to see an exquisite demonstration of blended traditions — and in the end, it all still works out for the best.

A Few of My Favorite Things

A Day to Be Grateful...

Traditionally Americans are coerced into reciting all of the things they are thankful for before feasting on gluttonous meals yearly on the fourth Thursday in November. Several other cultures celebrate similar days of thanks as well. Hopefully each one of us remembers to appreciate and be grateful for all that we have the other 364 days in the year.

Before I sit at my family's Thanksgiving table tomorrow, I wanted to take the time to thank all of my readers - blogs, books and articles - and all of my social network friends for allowing me room in their lives. My wish for each of you is to have many, many, MANY reasons to be grateful every day.

I feel the need to mention just some of the things I thank G-d for everyday: My husband, our children and their soul-mates, our combined siblings and their families, our cousins, extended family and mishpocha (relatives through blood & marriage), our cats and other family pets,the professionals I get to work with in a job I love, my publisher and fellow authors at VHP, the friendships I've made through work, a warm home, my needs being met and lots of hopes and dreams we are all working towards. I am thankful for so many of the people I've known in my life, even several who are no longer present, and the experiences and joys I've been allowed to see. I've been blessed to find some of my closest friends among the very people I call family, and friends who have become family. I can earnestly say It IS a Wonderful Life.

May you and yours enjoy all of the goodness 

and blessings of the day

 and forever have reason to be thankful! 

This is dedicated to the ones I love...

Ahh, the Romance of it All

As I watch my son and future daughter-in-law prepare for their wedding later this year, I feel all sorts of "gushy" about romance; I guess I was the same way seven years ago when my daughter was getting married.

When Mark and I were married more than 38-years ago I remember the stress that went into trying to please everyone and the concessions that were made from the dreams I had of my perfect wedding - but more than anything I remember the first time I looked at the man that I was able to call husband and knew that he was the most important part of my life and always would be. When he took my hand to walk with me up the aisle after the traditional kiss, I knew that was what pure love felt like.

I love to write about love and romance and passion in my books. I've written a few wedding ceremonies into the stories as well and I have fun with those. In the following excerpt from His Lucky Charm the heroine's best friend Keisha marries the love of her life Malcolm in an African inspired ceremony:

Malcolm had explained many of the traditions and rituals of their wedding to Brandon. He had told him that the wedding was the union of not just the couple, but of their families and their lives. Their parents and immediate families were just as much a part of the ceremony as the couple.

It was a very spiritual time with prayers that were begun weeks earlier.

Keisha’s father blessed his daughter and son as he now referred to Malcolm. Malcolm’s mother tied a loose string of conchi shells around Keisha’s neck as a sign of fertility and luck for a happy family. The priest conducted the service interjecting the civil requirements among the prayers and blessings.

Malcolm spoke to his bride thanking her for completing his life. “A man without a wife is a man without a home.” He promised to keep her happy and provide for her and he placed a simple band on her finger.

Keisha promised that her love for Malcolm would be never-ending like the circle of the wedding band. Then she placed a ring on his finger.

Both mothers took turns reciting an African marriage creed. Brandon noticed Caitlyn look downward as they gave the advice to “Be Open With Each Other. Bind not yourselves in the secretiveness that causes suspicion and doubt. Trust and reveal yourselves to each other, even as the budding rose opens to reveal its fragrance and beauty.”

He berated himself again for having kept secrets from the woman he loved and wondered if he would ever have the opportunity again to reveal his true self to her. More than that, he worried that she no longer had an interest in him or of learning his truths.

The ceremony concluded with Malcolm’s father tying Keisha and Malcolm’s wrists together with a purple cloth to symbolize their union. Together they jumped over a broom laid on the floor to show that they were starting fresh and welcoming the new path before them. Smiling and happy, they walked together up the aisle to the back of the church while the audience applauded.

The parents followed the happy couple and so did Caitlyn and Malcolm’s brother. Caitlyn noticed Brandon in the back row as she neared the door and her steps faltered. The best man placed a hand under her elbow and looked in the direction of her distraction. The smile Caitlyn had been wearing quickly left her face and she turned away from Brandon as she regained her footing.

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