A Slice of Americana

Every year, my kids look forward to the 4th of July parade in Blowing Rock, North Carolina, and this year was no exception. The town held the parade a day early, and as I was listening to the live bands in the park and looking at all of the happy families dressed in red, white and blue picnicking on the lawn, I thought that this is a bit of Americana that few people get to experience in the 21st century. It is like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

The parade features floats from local businesses, politicians and groups, dancing groups clogging their way down Main Street, fire trucks, tricked out equestrians, and a Shriner's band playing Souza tunes. There are clowns, old cars from the 1940's and '50's, dogs dressed up in patriotic ribbons, and a stiltwalker. This year, two of my daughters, Miriam and Leah, were also in the parade, tossing candy to the children along the street.

Blowing Rock is a small town nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, populated by earnest, polite and hardworking mountain people. In many ways, it is a throwback to simpler times, when people would greet you in the street even if they didn't know you. Older kids can wander through the park, to the ice cream store and on to the public pool without supervision or fear. Children address adults as "sir" or "ma'am".

I sort of grew up with Blowing Rock, having visited it just about every year since I was around 8 or 9 years old. My parents have owned a home here for 30 years. When I was a kid, it was even more quaint and less commercial, with a real 1950's style soda shop named Storie's. But the main parts have remained the same, and I am grateful that my children get to experience it.

Blowing Rock is a welcome respite from the unrestrained materialism prevalent in Boca Raton. Our annual summer trip serves as a reinforcement of the values we try to instill at home: kindness, hard work, respect, sharing and good manners. Just because we live in modern times doesn't mean that we have to give up on those positive values that helped form this country. Perhaps if we all tried to tap into that old time Americana, we could pull ourselves out of our overconsumption of media and connect with each other in more meaningful ways.

Christmas Cheer Only Once a Year?

There are a number of phrases used to describe the period between Thanksgiving and New Years, but the one that irks me the most is “the season for giving.” Don’t get me wrong. I love the concept of giving; it’s the season part that bothers me. Why should there be a season to give? There is a season for strawberries, a season for skiing, a season for planting, but giving is (or should be) a year round activity.

Do homeless people only need food and shelter at Christmastime? What about cancer patients? Do they only suffer and die in the last two weeks of the year? How about the millions of young girls in developing nations who are kidnapped, imprisoned and forced to work in brothels every year? Are they safe and happy the other 50 weeks of the year?

Maybe it’s time to reconsider the concept of a season of giving. The Kabbalists explain that the only way we can grow spiritually is to restrict and to share constantly. They also acknowledge that it is against our nature as humans to do so. It’s not easy. But don’t we owe it to ourselves to put in the effort even when we are not being reminded by the Salvation Army bell ringing on every corner?

At Christmas, Santa Claus is everywhere, and my kids when they were little, along with every other kid, got excited about him. “When is Santa coming to our house?” they’d ask me. Patiently, I explained to them that Santa is not a real person, but rather an idea. The idea is that of selfless sharing and unconditional love. Santa never takes for himself, only gives, and the giving makes him happy. This is a beautiful idea, and a worthwhile one. Even though it’s pretty abstract, my kids got it.

The idea is not to sit and wait for Santa, but to emulate him (and I don’t mean dressing up in a big red suit trimmed with fur), not just at this time of the year, but to do it all year long. That is the only way to make a lasting difference in our lives and in the world.

The Courage to Invite

We love to entertain. We have a one-story house with an open floor plan and a huge back patio and yard and we invite people over fairly often. We have to; that’s the only way we have any kind of social life.

Many moons ago, we had a social life where people actually would invite us to parties or over for dinner. But that was before we had five kids. Apparently, something about that number is very intimidating, even to close friends.

I like to think that they want to invite us, but just as the words are about to escape their lips, visions of their house in shambles appear in their minds, with small savages wrapped in remnants of their curtains running around screaming as they smash their antique chairs to make a bonfire in the living room. Then they dismiss that crazy thought and remark on the weather.

So we have people come here, and yes, we like it. For one thing, it forces us to clean and declutter the house. And, of course, we enjoy sharing. It is relatively low stress to have people here because the kids have activities they can do and places that they can go to give us a modicum of peace and adult conversation. But I always thought it sure would be nice if someone would make the mental leap and invite us to their house.

Then someone did. It was a couple with a little girl who is friends with my 5-year old, Leah. The girls play with each other on Shabbat at the Kabblah Centre. The father, Lee, is very nice. His wife, Debbie, it turned out, went to the same middle school as I did. But they certainly did not number among our closest friends. Even so, they invited us to their home one Sunday, and we, shocked as we were, accepted.

We had a lovely time. We ate and drank together, watched some football, and the children played in the backyard. Nothing was broken. And it got me thinking: here was proof that it was possible to bring our big family over to someone else’s house and for everything to be just fine.

So, armed with this new confidence, I started to subtly grouse to my friends about how no one ever invites us anywhere. Slowly, our friends are getting the hint. For the first time ever, we were invited over for Thanksgiving.

Previously, the only invitation for Thanksgiving we ever got was to my parents’ house. However, since they moved to North Carolina for half the year and my dad started to teach at the university there, his teaching schedule has prevented us from being together for Thanksgiving.

My in-laws come down from upstate New York around Thanksgiving every year, but they always spend the holiday with my father-in-law’s son in Tennessee. Of course, it is also true that my in-laws have never invited us up to see them when they are in Florida for the season. They prefer to make the trip down to Boca one or two times during that period instead.

So, getting back to this Thanksgiving, our friends, Martina and Wolfgang, invited us over to their house, along with a wonderful group consisting of another couple with a baby, a single mom with two kids and another lady, all good friends of ours as well. I had already bought a turkey for our planned solitary holiday celebration, as well as some of the trimmings, which I brought over to share with the group. I went over early and cooked and prepared with Martina, and then went home to fetch my tribe.

Once again, we had a great time. The children played with each other and occasionally came in to grab some food as the adults ate and chatted. Only a couple of things got broken – a glass jar of gravy (not my child) and some parts of a porcelain tea set (unfortunately, my kid), which I will, of course, replace. But over all, the impact was minimal.

Martina told me that she’d had to work up the courage to invite us over, but that it was worth it. Now, another friend is trying to work up her courage as well. We may end up having a social life again, after all. Yay! Lepers no more…

Why I Hate Halloween

Halloween is right around the corner. My kids have been talking about costumes and candy for at least a month and a half, when our local supermarket decided to put up their Halloween display (thanks, Publix!).

Halloween is my least favorite holiday. Actually it is more than that. I can’t stand Halloween. As an adult, there is nothing but hassle, expense and sacrifice and nothing positive. The kids don’t learn anything positive and there is nothing of benefit that comes out of Halloween.

Let’s start with the whole concept of “trick or treat.” This wonderful holiday teaches my kids that if total strangers don’t give them something they don’t deserve and have no right to expect (free candy), it is perfectly OK to “trick” them by vandalizing their homes.

Now, let’s discuss the candy. I buy candy for my kids very rarely, as a special treat. I used to be a little more liberal with the candy (they’re only kids once, after all), but then I took my kids to the dentist. Out of four kids (Rebecca was too young at that time to go), I ended up with six cavities, costing me hundreds of dollars, even with dental insurance, and repeat visits to fix. Tomorrow, my kids, each of whom at their last checkup had zero cavities, are going to come home with a huge bag or bucket of candy. Oh, joy. Now I have to figure out how to subtly disappear it so it doesn’t set off waves of temper tantrums and sulk sessions.

This year, just like the previous years, my kids insisted on getting new costumes. Never mind that we have a huge dress up box full of princess and fairy costumes, clown and cheerleader outfits, disco diva and flapper get-ups, complete with boa. No, those are not what they want to be this year. So we had to pay ridiculous prices for a costume that each of them will wear one night before tossing it in the dress up tub.

Not only that, but the costumes are made so cheaply that they frequently break even before Halloween. Last year, Miriam was a 70’s girl and I bought her a shiny vinyl lime green top and pants and silver platform shoes. The pants ripped two days before Halloween right in the front by the crotch and could not be repaired. The entire platform sole on both shoes came away from the upper. This year already, her witch hat’s elastic band broke and I will need to sew it back on today.

And finally, there is the whole idea of Halloween itself. On Halloween supposedly, all the evil and dead things come out; the vampires and zombies, the monsters and murderers, witches and devils and ,even the Grim Reaper himself. How lovely! What a perfect night to send out innocent children out in the dark to knock on strangers’ doors! And I just love going to someone’s house and seeing their manicured lawn decorated with people rising from their graves and spiderwebs and disembodied heads that talk and flash their eyes at me and my young children.

About the only good thing about Halloween is seeing the little kids in their fireman, pricess and puppy dog outfits and taking pictures of my own adorable little trick-or-treaters. In my opinion, Halloween is only cute if you are 6 or under. If it was up to me, I would dress my kids up, take a picture, give them a cupcake and juice box, put them in their pajamas and send them to bed.

Nevertheless, you can look for me tomorrow, going door to door with a passel full of children, begging for candy from my neighbors.

Happy Halloween! :P