A few years ago, most
of my holiday shopping was canceled due to an accident involving my left foot
and the backdoor step. The diagnosis: a fracture. It was s Saturday. Wrapped in
a temporary splint, I was sent home from the hospital on crutches to wait six
days for my doctor's appointment. There would be no Christmas shopping. My sister joked, "You have options. You can do a lot of damage online."
That
wasn't my option. I loved to hunt for the perfect gift. The crisp pine-spiced
air, bejeweled shop windows, and the kindness of strangers lifted my spirits.
The
holidays are merry days at our house. We are a mixed faith household, Jewish
and Catholic, spiritual rather than religious, with two apathetic sons. Our
family believes in rituals like lighting a menorah and decorating a Christmas
tree. We fry latkes and bake Christmas cookies. I believe the holidays are both
a time to absorb joy (mostly through food) and to reflect joy, give goodies to
others. And, I know this to be true, the kind renderings of the heart add to my
happiness.
David,
my husband, is a computer doctor. This allows him the opportunity to visit many
homes. His clients are generous during the holidays. We've received bottles of
wine, boxes of chocolates, and that season, two pounds of shelled walnuts came
home along with a repair job.
Could I let them go to waste? In past
years, when the walnut supply from neighboring trees was cheap and aplenty we
found a great recipe for candied nuts. We gifted them to everyone for the
holidays. Now it looked as though we were back in business with a new source. Couldn't
I gift the nuts again? My foot was my first concern.
David
suggested, "Sit on a stool and stir. What's so hard about that?"
Now my
David isn't mean-spirited. He just likes candy, and these nuts are small bits of
bliss. They crunch in the mouth in the most satisfying way. One is tricked into
thinking that nut candy is healthy. Whole handfuls can disappear in seconds.
That
year the first day of Hanukkah was three days before Christmas. In preparation,
I stirred batch after batch of nuts. It was insanity with my injury, but I
stopped often to prop up my foot. On the eve of Hanukkah we lit candles and
said a blessing. For dinner we fried latkes and ate them with applesauce.
The night of Christmas
Eve we drank eggnog with the neighbors, and later examined our supply of gift
candy. Seven lucky recipients of nuts were on my list. Some of the batches, I
split in two, because they were for a household of one. This solution might
have confused my math, because while counting my inventory I found eight gift-wrapped
packages.
Impossible.
I
checked the list again. Was someone forgotten? Should we rip open the last package
and eat them? No. Better to have too much
than not enough, whispered my mother in my ear. I put the little package with
its paper bow aside.
Eight
o'clock, Christmas Eve, there was a knock at the door. Our friends, a couple
from across town, came by to pick up a laptop. It was a present that my husband
had ordered for their son. They surprised us with fudge and Christmas cookies, and
not just a small amount, three varieties of fudge and four types of cookies.
For
this magnitude of giving, I felt obligated to take action. The card I sent them
didn't seem enough. I hugged them and thanked them, but that didn't seem
enough. Then I saw the dandy little package set aside. No note attached.
Perfect.
A
miracle!
Number
eight, my last batch of walnut candy! A miracle on Christmas Eve! Like the miracle
birth of the baby Jesus! Like the miracle of light lasting eight days for the menorah!
Was
I nuts?
Yes. And now I am known as the nut lady.
