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.