It was the last night of Chanukah today, meaning tomorrow's the last day of Chanukah. Jewish days begin the night before. It confuses us, so it certainly must have confused our enemies over the millenia.
So we gathered at my Aunt's house for latkes and brisket and heck of a lot of food. It was me, my parents, my cousin, my brother and belle soeur. Also visiting was Aunt Frances. She's not really my aunt. She is the widow of my mother's mother's first cousin, though. That counts. She always brings cake and baked goods from her bakery. That pretty much makes you a blood relation in my book, even though I never officially met her until two years ago.
Of course it didn't take long for us to get to the topic of the Presee-dent, and his adventures in babysitting. Aunt Frances put it this way, "He didn't have sex with her. She serviced him." Seniors say the cutest things. I think she's been reading that Dan Savage book (see the previous entry).
Actually, Aunt Frances is a role model. Despite knee replacement and many subway and LIRR rides, Frances goes to work everyday, and reads every paper she can get her hands on. She's 84. I wish seniors with four times her strength would learn from her example.
Soon enough the evening ended, and my Aunt Elaine stood waving in the doorway until our car was out of sight. It occurs to me that she is turning more and more into Grandma each year. That's exactly what Grandma used to do. I don't even think she realizes it. Perhaps when she starts handing me a dollar whenever I take out the garbage, maybe then a bell will ring. It's nice to have a good aunt (See my 14 November entry).
So even though we lit the Chanukah lights at my aunt's house, I lit them again at home. This is one of the few holidays I observe readily, and always have. I have those prayers memorized. Figure 30-plus years times eight nights of hearing the same prayers, eight nights in a row. That's how you learn it, you know.
Now Chanukah is a pretty family-oriented holiday. I never thought I would spend so many Chanukahs on my own. At least one of those nights I go to my folks'. But the other seven nights are mine. I have a lot of boxes of candles from dead people. Either given to me by friends or relatives of the recently deceased. Or bought at a yard sale when the house is being sold. Grandma's. Stu's Grandma's. The Solomons around the corner from my folks'. I have so many I can't rightly be sure any more.
Nais gadol hayah sham--a great miracle happened there. That's what the dreidel says... So my own tradition is to light the candles on the eighth night. Most people ignore them after they are lit. Light them and go watch Fox. Not me. I ignore them until they are about a half inch from finishing. Then I prop myself up nearby, and watch all nine burn down. First the shamash goes, because he was the first one lit, who lit the others. Then I watch the lights go out, one by one. First they are just nubs of wax, then they turn into pools of clear liquid, fueling the last of the wick. The top of the wick burns dark orange while the flames go all blue. And one by one, they extinguish themselves. I even breathe slowly to make sure I don't blow them out. (Contrary to King of the Hill and my ex, "Knucklehead," you do not blow them out, ever.)
And so there's always one left. One lucky little straggler that hold on. Not even the last one lit. It's always that way. The first candle goes out first, but the last one to go is never the last one lit.
That's the miracle, right there. It's the underdog.
So eventually the wick's burned out, and some dark smoke wisps up into the air, and I inhale a little of it. So it's with me until next year. It's not me making a wish. It's me being hopeful, and believing. Until next year. The candles will be the same, but everything else might be different.
So, to tradition, and to change, and to their happy marriage.
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