Yesterday, I ironed twenty-two shirts and two skirts, have another dozen to go. Then I peeled about the same number of potatoes and made latkes for the family Chanukah party, which took place at my son & daughter-in-law's apartment. Latkes were great, so everyone said, and the true miracle of Chanukah may be cleaning up all the film of oil sprayed around the kitchen. My dad is with us for a few days (he lives with my brother and sister-in-law, who are in San Diego). Since he has macular degeneration and can't really see, my husband helped him light the candles, and that was fine. Our youngest daughter is in New York (when we commiserated with her about the cold weather, she said it wasn't so bad--I guess 'cause she knows she's coming home tonight!), and we missed her voice when we sang the blessings and hymns.
Before any of the kids were married, each of them used to light a separate menorah. The menorahs were all of varying heights and materials--one was silver (ours), most were metal, and there was a huge, three-feet tall wooden menorah that our youngest son made in school. Some burned oil (which is preferable), most used candles, leaving congealed blobs of multi-colored was on the tray.
The eighth day was magical--seven menorahs fully lit, fifty-six flames illuminating the room with a golden glow. We always took a family photo on that last day (my husband would set up the tripod and put the camera on a timer). Now three of our children are married and have begun traditions of their own, and our middle daughter has moved into her own apartment. And I'm feeling more than a little nostalgic....
Back to the shirts.
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