Yesterday, I put up my Christmas tree. I know I'm not unique in the rush of nostalgia that happens when Bing Crosby is in the background and a knot of white lights are at my feet. I hung one strand of white, one strand of red, and a combination strand of green and red. I tied a ribbon to the top and the smell of the tree, and the sound of the music made me miss my grandmother so much, I had to stop. She raised me, along with my dad, and has been gone for more than 10 years. There's no specific Christmas memory I cling to, but the overall feeling of love and safety that thinking about some Christmas in the late 1980s brings to mind So, what should I do with a newly decorated tree, some feelings of loss, and a long Sunday afternoon? Make latkes, of course!
|Me, Christmas morning, 1983|
|Our Christmas Tree|
My new husband has given me a Jewish surname, but I out Jewish him about 100 to 1. I mean, I took him to his first seder when we started dating! In planning for the crazy, mixed-up totally New York upbringing I'd like to give the children I hope to have one day, I attempted latkes. The results: hash browns! There's a controversy on the web about soaking the potatoes. I don't think I used the right amount of flour. Mi mamacita judia said her mother used some kind of special Jewish flour. I'm also generally a terrible fryer, but they were still delicious.
This was a long story for latkes. I feel like that should something about me, but I'm not quite sure what it is.