Holidays Online

The holiday season was difficult for some people. On a recent wintry walk with our dogs, a friend talked about how much she missed Christmas with her extended family. In previous years she has complained mightily about these gatherings, about who shirks the work and who gives thoughtless gifts. The unwanted pandemic-induced sliver of a silver lining: newfound appreciation for annoying relatives. Here in my house things were not very different from usual. Some years we travel (last year, for instance, to celebrate my father's 90th birthday) but mostly we stay home. Because we have almost always lived far from extended family we are accustomed to capsule holidays. We celebrate Chanuka (make latkes!). We might be invited to a party or invite friends for a Chanuka dinner (make even more latkes!)  On the first night of Chanuka every year I recall that our food processor (a gift for subscribing to the Toronto Star) has broken (though the Star keeps coming), and that the potatoes and onions will need grating by hand. Lately daughter has pretty much taken over on the potato front, and dealing with onions has become much less onerous since we started keeping a pair of swim goggles in the kitchen. Middle child is particularly good at onions.

Back when the children were small and we lived in Durham, we celebrated Christmas as well as Chanuka, because everyone we knew--everyone the children knew--celebrated Christmas too. Simon grew up in a kosher home, and yet they celebrated Christmas. In the UK, a Christian state, Christmas has much more of the feel of a secular holiday. Where I grew up--back when I grew up--in suburban Los Angeles, it seemed as though there was an even split between Christians and Jews. You celebrated your own holiday and did not trespass on the other. "Are you Chanuka or Christmas?" was one of the first questions posed to a new acquaintance on the school playground, either just before or just after "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" and "Are you oldest or youngest?" I can still remember one boy, Steven D., who told us that he celebrated both Chanuka and Christmas. We disapproved; how greedy. He told us he had one sister and one brother. He was the middle child.

So I confess to an illicit thrill from buying and decorating a tree of my own back in those Durham days. A real one, which was a novelty even for Simon, whose family tradition involved pulling from the attic, assembling, and dusting off an artificial specimen. We learned as we went. Avoid the ones with the super-pointy needles (ouch). Make sure to ask about drop or non-drop. It turns out you need a special stand and that you have to water these things. Who knew? One year we brought home a living tree in a tub of soil. Sufficient to say it didn't. 

Celebrating Christmas did not mean we skipped Chanuka though. We indulged in both (I send my apologies to Steven D. across the many years and miles). We went through a lot of tinsel and wrapping paper as well as 44 candles. Many years each child lit his or her own menorah (wonky wooden structures with nuts and bolts glued on), along with our gorgeous family one, so four times 44 candles. The eighth night served as an excellent test of the smoke detector (as did any night on which we made latkes). 

Very occasionally we had extended family with us but more often, just us. This year, of course just us, but because the eldest had moved home for six months, it was all five of us. Such a boon; such a pandemic gift that I felt a little guilty at my joy. No wrapped box could have made a better present. Nonetheless, we tried. The kids organized, posted wish-lists on Google docs, shared links, demanded to know Simon's and my deepest desires.  A week before lighting the first candle of Chanuka came a night when all of us were online shopping for each other. As in, all night. WhatsApp messages flew and feet pounded up and down stairs ("you didn't answer my text!") doing deals about splitting one or another item with one or another sibling or parent or child. 

In my study the door would burst open and I would slam the laptop shut as someone, discovering an item was too costly, burst in asking ‘want to give X to Y with me?’ I had to cancel more than one order when communication went wrong and two of us ordered the same thing for the same person. At 3 am we all five, plus three pets, collapsed on Simon's and my massive bed. It had been nearly as exhausting as a December trek through a mall crammed with people and flashing lights, but a lot more fun and with a plentiful supply of tea.  At one point the bank disabled my credit card. The next day we called to get it turned back on and they explained that a purchase from Eddie Bauer was "out of character" for me. Too high-end, was the sub-text. I ought to be offended but in fairness it was an item on sale for half-price. Unfortunately somewhere in the kerfuffle we ended up with two of the same item. Luckily, they allowed returns. (Even more luckily, we are able to buy gifts at all. We know it, and we appreciate it, and we remembered to share with others.)

At the same time the youngest has been busy putting in her university applications. And she is about to turn eighteen.  I always knew this was the plan, that the kids would grow up, finish high school, go to university, take their places in the world outside our household.  It just seems too soon. In spite of her delightful poise, maturity, and knowledge of the world, I still find myself surprised that my baby is a proper young woman. 

Catch up, dearie, I chide myself. 

Meanwhile, eldest has flown the coop again, back to Vancouver to take up a job. We had a beautiful six months of reliving the days when the five of us all together under one roof did not seem like a special treat. It seemed normal. It was life.

Turn, turn, turn. 

Bluffer's Park

It takes a village

Family feud--snowball edition