Zora Travels

A New Year boat ride

Our family floated through Naples canals and saw Christmas lights to finish out the first day of the new year.  It was Nora's first boat ride.  And although she spent most of it under a nursing cover, she experienced crisp air and elaborate light displays when she did peak out.

Thanks to our super neighbors and friends, Marisa and Jeremy, who not only invited us out on the duffy boat, but brought Belgian ale and delicate creme-filled mochi. These mochi are incredible.  Found only in Honolulu or Tokyo.  Brought back on dry ice from airport visits once in a blue moon.  Marisa has doled them out generously to me over the past few months.  I very well might make a stop in one of these two cities to pick some up years from now when the memory of them still linger on my mind.

My dear mum also sent pictures of Noodle's baptism and our Catholic wedding blessing.  Below are a few of the best snaps.  It was a memorable day; although I can't say that I would wish to ever repeat the celebration of Christmas Eve, packing on Christmas Day, flying to Vegas, late family party, early rise for priest interview, rush to the church, participate in two masses to celebrate both a baptism and a religious marriage blessing...followed by another family party.  They were three whirlwind days with a baby in tow that left my head spinning.  Luckily, Daniel's family took care of the planning and execution of the event.  We merely participated. 

Not often does a bride not even know what their ceremony will ask them to affirm.  I suddenly found myself in the awkward position of agreeing to "submit" to my husband and "be a good housewife."  Phrases that would have NEVER crossed my lips, had I been involved in selecting the readings.  My Berkeley-feminist breath was literally sucked out of my body....and I dug deep to pull my jaw up off the floor and nod.  But these occasions were very special to Daniel's family and some of my family were sweet enough to come to Vegas the day after Christmas to share the day with us.  My heart hurt that my best friends, brother's family, and father couldn't make it...but it was a difficult date to attend from afar.

 

The baptism was lovely.  Nora bathed in the lights, deep voices, and scenery of the beautiful church.  Even when the priest poured water and oil on her head, she remained quiet and observant.  Her only little jump was when the church erupted in clapping to welcome her into the flock.  Still not a tear was shed.  Just a bit of hand gnawing.  She is defintely teething.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chew those hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The three couples recieving a Catholic marriage blessing.  We exchanged vows and rings again.  It made me tear up a bit and I felt such emotion looking at Daniel while slipping the ring on his finger.

 

 

 

 

 

All the parents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The four generations!  Grandma Lola made it out despite bronchitis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Auntie Barbara caught a gummy grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Four generations of hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cousin Marie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daisy & Courtney (unable to make the event) are Nora's Godmothers.  Jake is her Godfather.  Such a fantastic trio to be a support to Noodle.

My Secret New Year's Wish

For years I've harbored a wish - to be invited to a Jewish Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur dinner.  In college I worked in a Jewish deli...and during the High Holy Days I would go into this Judaica store in the same shopping plaza and pester the workers to no end.  I had endless questions:

• What is this upcoming holiday for?
• What special things are the customers going to order? Why?
• What is kosher?
• How clean do they make the house? What's wrong with dairy? Why no pork?
• What is that over there? (pointing to any of the beautiful objects with Hebrew script on them)
• Can you explain how the calendar works?
• Why do they dip the herbs?
• What does that represent?
• Everyone knows the same prayers?  Like around the whole world?

Almost daily I peppered these poor people with an insatiable curiosity.  They were very patient...probably just wishing that I was like all the other Katella Deli workers who just went to work and occasionally took home some bagel chips, large pickles, and called it a day.

But not me -- I was smitten.  I was mesmerized by this religion, culture, food, people, history, music, objects, symbolism...the whole matzo ball.  I didn't grow up around Jewish people (I mean in a town like Methow, Washington, there are not many Jews running around).  I am sure there might have been Jewish families in the huge town of Pateros (with a 2000 census population of 643) where I attended elementary school...but if so, I was not aware.

So, suddenly, here in Long Beach...fresh out of high school...my sites set on attending Berkeley as a transfer student...I was at a restaurant that was spiced with a culture that went back thousands of years.  None of the modern "born-again" rock concerts that friends had taken me to...just an elaborate set of rituals, prayers, songs, objects, foods, that were performed in a similar fashion throughout the world at sundown.

And folks, I've tried to hint about my wish to be invited.  Anytime I'm within ear shot of someone Jewish or married to a Jew I usually let it spill that I'm fascinated by these never-before-witnessed traditions.  My eyes most certainly sparkle, my voice raises a few octaves, and I wait for them to explain to me how their family or in-law's family celebrates the Holy Days.  And always at the end of these conversations --- I wait.  Hoping, praying, that they'll say, "Hey, why don't I ask my in-laws if you could come over? "  I would act so cool and collected...and very casually respond, "Yeah, that might be nice." Inside I would be bursting with excitement.  I would research the traditions, the foods, the best challah in the entire county.  And like a starstruck teenager I would show up, exactly at the time requested...perhaps having asked all my other Jewish friends what I could bring, how I should dress, what I should say.  I would sit nervously and feast my eyes and rapidly beating heart upon a table bedecked for the festivities.  Bowls full of pomegranates, honey, apples, herbs, eggs.  Shiny braided breads.  Prayers recited...but no one saying the word G_d.

What a night it would be.  Daniel would be SO grateful.  He hears about this wish every single year.  I lament and lament that I'm not asked.  I get a little forlorn (last night and tonight) that I'm no where near hearing a shofar blow.  I am pacified at times by documentaries.  Daniel has even helped me sometimes to find a program online that show Jews celebrating these meals.  He sits with me and holds my hand as I get misty-eyed at all of the traditions involved in the preparation and celebration.

Well, Good New Year or A Gut Yoar to everyone!  I suppose there's always a chance I'll be invited for Yom Kippur...although Nuglett's arrival might prevent my attendance.  I think I'd cry if this is the year I finally get invited and I can't go.

And I suppose there's always next year, 1 Tishrei, 5772.

The Consistent Light

There is a beauty in consistency.  A sense of peace comes from faith, religion, a belief in God.  I wonder whether I will take solace and enhance the familial harmony through conversion.  The architectural wonders of Italian Catholisism were stunning, the radiance of Daniel's family in the basilicas, saying prayers for those whose feet never trapsed the cobblestones of Assisi, rosaries blessed by a priest, a grandmother dedicated to attending mass and tending to the souls of all of us. 

His family home contains a prostrate Jesus with a crown of thorns, a baby Jesus with a regal crown and elegant beaded robe, and a winking Jesus hologram (and that's just to name a few).  But far more than these physical articles of faith there exists this unwavering sense of love for the culture of the church.  The family embraces ritual, faith, commitment, and dedication to a religion.  It is a beautiful light.  But can I shine truthfully within it?