Last night we invited some friends to share a winter’s night. In a blur of children. There was soup
that my great grandmother used to make and latkes for everyone. Wine poured liberally as we talked
and talked and cooked and played. Briefly we all came together to pause. I told the story of the
few who did what was right, of the oil that lasted eight nights though there was only enough for one.
A story of miraclebut really a story of doing what is right and standing up for what you believe.
And then there was gelt (chocolate money) and doughnuts. Finally there was just me sitting quietly
in the flower chair with a little boy asleep on the floor under a rainbow blanket.