Tag Archives: Hanukkah

Long, Winter Dreams

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Monday Morning Musings:

Long Winter Dreams

The sun is a specter,
a pale wraith without
the heat of its golden youth,

its white-bearded head haloed
with wreathes of clouds
that feather

the skeletons of trees
backlit on the winter stage,
waiting for spring’s curtain call.

Now we remember summer
in our wine, and gather light around us,
echo ancient tales in newer versions
like sundial to clock
hours that pass and return

differently and the same,
like families, love,
and the river’s flow.

And so, it goes. The food, wine, sweets,
the hugs and kisses, the putting on of hats
and coats, the remembering of ghosts of before
and after

in our long, winter dreams,
the fiddler turns notes into stars—
and diamond glitter falls
so that we shine. Each of us, all.

Not much outdoor walking this past week with the recent weather. We did get to celebrate with family, and even though older child and their wife’s train was first cancelled and then the rebooked one had several delays, they eventually made it here. I hope all of you are safe and warm.

On the way to 30th St. Station on Christmas Eve

Small Stars

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Monday Morning Musings:

December Puddle Reflection

Small Stars

December is heavy-lidded,
ready to sleep
with yawns that make branches shake
and clouds that weep great, grey tears—

and yet—

the star-birds still sing,
twinkling light-songs echo

in waves that ebb and flow
lulling us, waking us, making us
dream

and remember, so that
we recreate light, surf its waves
as bobbing buffleheads, here, gone,
here again,

bound to Earth and water,
small stars, sparkling.

My birthday last week began with a wintry mix of sleet and rain, that turned into wind-driven rain later in the day. Our daughter came for a visit on her way home from work, and she brought me a chocolate, chocolate birthday cake. She knows me. The next day we went to see a movie in a theater for the first time since the pandemic (we stayed masked and there were only a few people in the theater.) We saw The Fabelmans, which we both liked very much. Michelle Williams especially is wonderful as the mother in this autobiographical Spielberg film. Then we had my birthday Indian food and champagne.

On Saturday, we saw the Matisse exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We were both glad we were masked, as it was a little more crowded than we expected. It was blustery so we walked back to the train and New Jersey, and then went to William Heritage Winery, where we enjoyed our members’ seasonal flight.

Last night was the first night of Hanukkah. In the afternoon, I participated in Black Bough’s Zoom Winter Extravaganza. It was wonderful, but I was there longer than expected, so I will make latkes tonight—after the January 6 committee’s hearing.
Also—I loved the Netflix show 1899. It’s a Merril show–by the same people who created the German show Dark. You may need to set the captioning (unless you like dubbed shows, which I do not). Do not read spoilers for it.

We Find the Light Again and Again

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Monday Morning Musings:

“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
—Mary Oliver, “When I am Among the Trees”

Sunrise in December

And now—the winter darkness comes,
the sun a sleepy golden cat, who rises on arthritic limbs
to sight the birds on leafless boughs
and make the holly berries gleam,
before he settles back to nap
in grey blankets glimmered-glowed.

The sun already low in the sky at 3:30 in the afternoon. The Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

And now—we see the nests above,
the treasures hidden by summer’s green,
and birds chitter-chat, and squirrels flitter past
gathering nuts for their cold repast,
while vultures soar, then bide their time
in silent committees in meetings of time

that flows like the river, light to darkness
to light again,
we touch match to candles, watch them burn–
the miracle is, we’ve endured,
we drink and eat and love, let out a sigh, a cry–
the shadows gather—

Early morning geese, Delaware River

December Sunrise

but so does the light. Bird-chased,
we follow after. There, the trees in cinnamon gowns,
and the glitter of snow on evergreen—there, a flame
brightens, while the sleepy cat says goodnight—
knowing he will wake to love,
while in the darkness we toast, “to life!”

Last night was the last night of Hanukkah. We bought another wine tasting kit, and we tasted a white (German Riesling) and a red (Australian Pinot Noir) while watching the candles burn.

The winter solstice approaches, and there is a lot of darkness in the world–and it’s growing. Don’t let it. Don’t let the anti-democratic forces or the anti-science crazies win. Shine the light wherever you can.

Reflecting Shadows and Light

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Monday Morning Musings:

“Turn a page, walk the lines of sentences: the singer steps out, and conjures a world of color and noise in the space inside your head.”
― Anthony Doerr, Cloud Cuckoo Land

“Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laiden with happiness and tears”
Jerry Bock / Sheldon Harnick, “Sunrise, Sunset,” Fiddler on the Roof

“Let the music commence from inside
Not only one sense, but use all five
Come to your senses
Come to your senses
Come to your senses
Baby come back
Alive”
Jonathan Larson, “Come to Your Senses,” Tick Tick . . .Boom!

There’s an ache for those who’ve passed
into memory, held within our hearts,
carried on in blood, skin, genes within our jeans—

my older child and I once shared a gown, now we share the sky,
our tongues taste the wind, we watch vultures fly.

We gather—together, we form and fashion light,
our senses alive, we’re wicks in scented wax,
held fast

flickering and flaming, creating a glow that burns
in darkness, a miracle reclaiming bright,

the red and gold against the dim
and cold November nights, when

we break bread together, we eat, and we drink
our senses tuned to color, we catch
the rising and setting sun, the clouds, the river

Sunrise Reflections, Delaware River

that flows through shadows, reflecting the gleam–
what was, what might be—unseen–
the ghosts that surrounding,

whisper “remember us,” as we share dreams
of now and tomorrow—
tears come, so does laughter–

our senses alive to shade and hue, the soul-filled tunes,
all the stories of the past—and now,
one season following another through traditions and change,
we turn the page again–and wait—

hear the fiddler, hear his song,
feel the whispers—tree sighs, squirrel chatter, birdwings of light–

all the things there all along, all the joy and grief,
and the magic yet to come.

Our older child and their wife were here last week. We had not seen them since before the pandemic, and it was wonderful to have them here. Our daughter, our younger child, came over and we made candles one day, then broke up loaves of bread for stuffing. On Thanksgiving, some other family members came for dinner, and the famous cranberry squirrel was present again. While our older child was here, we re-watched Fiddler on the Roof. It’s been a while since I’ve watched the entire movie. It was great to see it again. I listened to the soundtrack while I fried latkes last night for the first night of Hanukkah.

  • Thanksgiving 2021

Last dinner after dinner, my husband and I watched Tick, tick. . .Boom! (Netflix). It’s truly a love letter to musical theater—a movie based on Jonathan Larson’s 3-person musical about writing his first unsuccessful musical, but the movie is directed by Lin Manuel Miranda, who was inspired by seeing Larson’s Rent–and Larson was inspired and mentored by Stephen Sondheim, who died on Friday. There’s a musical number in the show that becomes a tribute to Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park with George. The real Sondheim leaves a voicemail message in the movie. Our older child’s college essay was on what Rent meant to them, so I guess we’re connected, too.

I’m nearly finished with Cloud Cuckoo Land, a novel by Anthony Doerr. Of course, I love it. It’s such a Merril book (multiple timelines and connections, light, color, history. . .and books, libraries, and librarians.).

Winter Solstice, Light Again

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Monday Morning Afternoon Musings:

Crystalline sky turns grey, and again,
the sun holds sway, briefly a queen,
till retiring her light in longest night,

John Heinz Wildlife Refuge Center, ©️Merril D. Smith 2020
Sunrise on the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, December. ©️Merril D. Smith 2020

thoughts flit in shadows, reappear
to soar on broad heron wings
toward faint morning’s misty glow, and slow

  • John Heinz Wildlife Refuge
  • Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield
  • Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

the brightening, diffused through pink-tipped clouds. But–
do you hear the river’s tongue, lapping up the shore,
waking the day? Watch, stay

there, from a tree a cardinal chirps and robins sing,
remember spring. And here, amidst festive red and green,
we recall summer bright

and keep its flames burning in candlelight, reflecting out
across the miles, ever fainter, like the stars
that gleam, while

the moon hums a silver sheen
across the snow. And buried below,
are seeds and dreams, waiting–

and so, it goes. Again, birth to end,
spinning earth, time flows, and light transcends
us all, singing, winging across and beyond space

that shimmering star glow.

So a quick bit today for the winter solstice because I’m behind on everything, including reading others’s work. I apologize. I hope to catch up this week.

My birthday was last Tuesday. We took a long walk at the John Heinz National Wildlife Center at Tinicum. I will post more photos another time. It’s a wetlands sanctuary. The day was cold and there was ice on the water, but the sun was shining, and it was beautiful. We tried a new to us Indian restaurant for take out dinner, and it was great! (And we had it for two more dinners!). Younger daughter baked and delivered a chocolate-salted caramel cake. We celebrated the rest of Hanukkah this week, and I started on Christmas baking. Santa Claus drove by on a fire engine (no, I can’t explain it)—but in this time of Covid, everything is exciting.

Merril’s Movie/Theater Club: We streamed The Wolves for my birthday. An excellent production by the Philadelphia Theater Company. We watched Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, a terrific film adaptation of August Wilson’s play. Nuanced and powerful performances from all, and an especially fine performance by Chadwick Boseman in his final role. This is an intense and beautifully filmed movie. We also watched Enola Holmes, which was perfect, lighter viewing. It’s a lot of fun. Both movies are on Netflix.

Constant Turning of the Light

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Monday Morning Musings:

“Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the water of the heart
Push in their tides;”
—Dylan Thomas, “Light breaks where no sun shines”

Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield early morning. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

Seek the stillness in the storm,
as grey consumes,
delight in light, within cold blue,
find warmer hues

Geese flying toward the light. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

aglow in candle flames;
await the glimpse of golden glimmer;
delight in company–and dinner–
watch the shimmer

  • Pumpkin Split Pea Soup
  • These are the best doughnuts.
Hanukkah Dinner, 2020.

of sun on water; and if time
flows, listen for its shadow-wings
that soar and circle back, to bring
song from stars, soul-stirring

  • Geese in flight. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020
  • Geese in flight. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

heart-burnished flickers. Rejoice in blood-pounding,
and surf-tossed waves; a symphony blend
of love, life, light begin and end,
the past returns, and over again

in the passage of indigo night
to rose-tipped sky
find all is right, in the lullaby
of the moon, the gentle sigh

of wind recalling
earth-yearning, and the constant turning
to find the songs and all the light, burning.

Mid-afternoon sun already low in the sky. William Heritage Winery.

Last Thursday marked the start of Hanukkah. In this pandemic year, we could not be with family, but still we celebrated. I bought my sisters, daughters, and myself a bracelet that says “kvetch.” It seems appropriate.

As we move closer to the winter solstice, the sun sets earlier and earlier, but our weather has been crazy. We’ve had storms and sunshine, and the temperature was in the 60s F yesterday. We met my sister-niece to exchange gifts and walk on Forbidden Drive along the Wissahickon. We met younger daughter and her husband at William Heritage Winery for an early birthday celebration. Right now, there’s a steady rain. We’re supposed to get snow on Wednesday.

  • Wissahickon Creek
  • Forbidden Drive ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

Remembering the Light

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Monday Morning Musings:

 

“I have forgotten that dark Berlin winter.

I will not forget the light of the horses.”

–from Pablo Neruda, “Horses.” 

 

Winter has its own beauty–

bright holiday baubles and candle light

glowing flickers within window frames

stars twinkling in December night,

their glow a memory from the past

 

and we remember, too, the past

celebrations in other places with people now gone

but stop we say, we are here, and now

with family and friends gathered together

we cook, we open gifts, we light the candles

 

first night

second night

each night one added

until finally, eight candles burn

and if there is no miracle, at least there is light

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My mother does not remember–

how many candles? Ten? she asks.

But she sings along in Yiddish with the rabbi,

songs from her childhood

songs of another world, now gone.

 

We walk in twilight through city streets

winter here, a different kind of beauty

of lines, reflections, and angles

people on holiday time without the frenzy–

the train at rush hour, not so crowded.

Philadelphia December Cityscape, Merril D. Smith, 2019

Philadelphia, Lines, Angles, and Reflections

 

Winter has its own allure–

dramatic grey clouds and stark, elegant branches.

We drink mulled wine and eat Christmas cookies,

we watch a show of space exploration and new worlds–

love and war the constants of human experience.

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Reflections at Red Bank Battlefield, December 2019.

 

Winter holds its secrets tight–

rising behind the clouds, the sun blazes and the moon shimmers,

beneath the snow, green sprouts watch and wait

beyond the darkness, comes the prancing light of horses,

carrying yesterday into tomorrow, and I remember

 

the light.

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Older daughter made this ornament for me.

 

Last night we watched a movie on Amazon Prime called Remembrance (original title: Die verlorene Zeit or The Lost Time) 2011. It’s loosely based on a true story of a couple who meet and fall in love in Auschwitz. He’s a Polish Christian, and she’s a German Jew. He smuggles photographs out of the camp, and he helps her escape. The movie toggles back and forth between her remembering the 1940s and the present (set in the 1970s.)  It seemed a fitting movie for the last night of Hanukkah–and I suppose their escape was a bit of miracle, too.

We’re also nearing the end of The Expanse.

The Little Things

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Monday Morning Musings:

My mother washes her hands

I flashback to a memory–

my grandfather, her father

rubbing his hands over and over

to dry them

 

We’d been out walking in the woods–

was this the day we were startled by riders on horseback?

(A magical sight.)

My sister and I were little

my grandfather was wise,

 

in the way that grandparents are

to young grandchildren

who see beyond the surface

to the hearts beneath

beating with love.

 

And there’s an understanding

that time exists in the now–

the autumn of one life,

the spring of another

co-existing in this moment

 

I tell my mother about this memory

and we talk of this and that

I go through her old cards

reading portions to her

as I clean out a drawer

 

a past, relics, consigned to a trash bag.

Who was this person?

Where was this photo taken?

My mother can’t see and can’t remember—

all the little things that make up a life.

 

All the little things that make up a city, a world–

the reindeer on a roof display

the stone carvings on a building

the snowflake on a lamppost

the candle burning in a window

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We celebrate the first night of Hanukkah,

fry the latkes,

light the candles

toast “L’Chaim!”

I dance to “Ocho Kandelikas.”

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My husband and I watch the candles burn.

We talk of this and that–

old memories and to-do lists,

the little things that make up a life,

the everyday ordinary and the magical exceptional.

 

 

Hanukkah Cat watching Santa drive by
Magic of Hanukkah and Christmas
Watching for Santa around Hanukkah decorations

Every year, Santa comes through town on a fire engine. I have no idea how this started, but his helpers give candy canes to the children (and adults) who come out to see him.

There are a bunch of movies I want to see, but I haven’t had a chance, and I don’t know if I will have any time in the next week. It’s a crazy time of year, isn’t it? I had an anxiety dream the other night, which I haven’t had in a long time. But–we finished watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and we’re on to the finally season of The Expanse. And there are latkes and candles and cuddly cats. . .so life may be stressful, but not awful.

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Thank you to all of you who take the time to read my writing. I truly appreciate you. I feel like I’m Mr. Rogers saying “It’s you I like,” but it’s true. Happy Holidays to all of you!

Here’s Pink Martini performing “Ocho Kanelikas.” Feel free to dance along!

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Watch the Candles Light the Past and Future

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Monday Morning Musings:

 

“History is all about ‘what ifs’”

“It was a long time ago now. And it was yesterday.”

Kate Atkinson, Life After Life

“And while we are playing
The candles are burning low
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago”

From the song, “Hanukkah oh Hanukkah” Traditional

And so, again, we celebrate Hanukkah

as the nights grow longer

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the days grow colder

I make soup, bake bread,

Challah
Vegetarian Borscht

time passes, a thread

connecting me to the past

 

I think of ancestors, steadfast

(I wonder) in determination

 

to leave the past, a cessation

of persecution, a new life.

 

We watch Mrs. Maisel, no longer wife

laugh, but still I think of the past

 

Borscht Belt and women’s rights, she and cast

moving through Paris, the Catskills, New York City

 

with dazzling designs and dialogue so witty

each episode a Hanukkah present,

 

and so it goes, we’re content

to pass the Hanukkah nights

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watching the candles burn bright

then I fry latkes again

with daughter remembering when

we grated, stirred with spoons

 

and listened to these tunes–

the maidel with the ladle—

 

I am happy we’re still able

to be together, to cook

 

to discuss friends, life, a book

and dance, sing, drink some wine,

eat some donuts, the company is fine–

as are the pets–

 

an asset to any set,

with tails wagging

they brighten moods flagging,

hers look for scraps on the floor

 

and bark at any noise at the door,

while mine watch the candles bright

and play with the dreidel in the light.

Generations, birthright, hindsight–

 

generations, frying latkes in the night

hoping for a miracle and promised lands–

 

my hands—

reach forward,

 

toward the unknown, hold present close,

but touch the past.

 

Still life goes on

as we remember days long ago,

 

time moves fast, or it goes so slow,

circling, dashing, we travel, with it flow.

 

Eighth Night of Hanukkah 2018

 

We’re watching Season Two of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Amazon Prime). Here’s the Season 2 Trailer. For years my daughters and I have listened to an album, A Child’s Hanukkah by the Jewish Wedding Band. Here’s the first song, which includes the phrase “kiss the maidel with the ladle.”

 

Lights and Life: Quadrille Haibun

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First Night of Hanukkah, December 2018

Candles burn, in winter darkness, a miracle of light. The ancient hatred is rising again. Six million and more, but we survive. We clink our glasses lightly, saying not, “Cheers,” but “L’chaim.”

twilight comes early

shadows blanket ground and trees—

light glows in windows

 

De, aka Whimsy Gizmo, has asked us to write a quadrille using some form of the word cheer for dVerse.  I’m also linking to Frank’s Haikai Challenge to write a poem that alludes to Advent or Hanukkah.

I know I wrote about Hanukkah yesterday, and there will probably be more—but you know, it lasts for eight nights. Tonight will be the third night of Hanukkah.  🙂