home for Shabbat
There's something about being at my parents' for Shabbat. The challa just seems to taste better. The songs are more fun to sing. It just feels like home - maybe because it is. It's comforting to fall into the same routines. The summer time light gets longer, the table is set, my dad plays a niggun as we gather around the table. We light the candles, sing Shabbat Shalom, bless the wine, wash our hands, and marvel at the yummy home-made challa before saying that blessing too and digging in. Being home for Shabbat is special.
I had fun on this visit up to my parents' house playing with my new camera. Above my mom, sporting the apron I made her, shows off her home-made challa. What you can't tell from this picture is how moments before, when I asked her to hold it up she almost dumped both loaves straight onto the floor. But with quick reflexes she kept them from sliding off completely. *Phew!*
A hand washing tradition that started off as a couple innocent flicks of water has now turned into a full swipe of a wet hand down the back of the neck. My mom gives me a look because she knows it's coming. Can't you see how much she appreciates this little tradition?
My parents have a beautiful garden this year. I remember it last year from just about this time. This year it's even more beautiful. The lavender bush is lush and fragrant. And the lilac is huge - creating a fort perfect for card games and fresh lemonade. My dad has a lettuce patch with huge heads of lettuce and radishes too. All enjoyed in the beautiful summer weather we had last weekend.