Batting a Mitzvah

If you don’t like the weather...

Just wait ten minutes ... That’s what they say in the mountains.

New York on Friday was raw, rainy, and, at 40 degrees, freeeeezing to these California bones. While Saturday finds the celebrants of great niece Gabby’s Bat Mitzvah huddling in doorways out of icy wind’s assault, even pepper spray seems a plausible warm-up!

Family temperatures, likewise, run hot and cold. If you don’t like the weather, go talk with someone whose vibe is more to your liking. 

Some are prickly all the time, some are deliciously warm and welcoming, some cold, (pepper spray won't do the trick here). Most of us wave like the ocean, with some troughs deeper than others, while some are on a steady high.

Sunday 5:30 pm, post-party, I’m sitting on sun-drenched brick front porch, hungrily drinking in the warmth. Cozy, Dozy Napping House. My gracious sister-in-law has finally put down the ever-present sponge and retired to her couch. Relishing the silence, the breeze and bare feet, I restore calm to my eardrums and nervous system, after the overwhelm of overzealous DJ’s dangerous decibels at last night’s reception.

Geese fly by, honking their punctuation into my Sunday Write Time. Wind is cold again, still the bricks retain warmth given generously all day by our closest star... and it ain’t Justin Bieber!

One of the DJ’s brings in a special guest - starlet Gina Marie Zimmerman from Big Brother, a TV show I’ve never seen. The thirteen year old boys are hanging on her, literally hanging - on arms, shoulders, neck - as close as they dare to her chestal area. Right on schedule. 

The tween girls are so much taller, because the marathon of maturation processes favors them starting the hormonal roller-coaster earlier (ladies first), and because the current fashion statement is 5 inch platform heels. Mini skirts are back, a friend and I observe, as groups of three to six preeners parade past us on their way to the Powder Room. This is the leggiest party I’ve attended since the 1960’s or ’70’s.

Overall, Gabby’s friends are a bright and curious crowd. Everyone agrees, she did a marvelous job, and the celebration is a success. 

The obligatory Sunday brunch following any big affair is peopled by the same dozen or so characters. We have some unusually fun conversations, and get to know our nieces and the rest of the family better - through playing my fun-loving hubby's camp games, and during several cut-throat games of cards. 

If you don't like the way your family functions flow, what if you change the weather willfully, by posing ponderings - like, "If you could, where in the world would you like to live, what in the world would you like to change, and how would you do that, and what in the world would you like to have?" Hoping your musings are as enlightening, enlivening and entertaining as what we heard. 

Another way we changed the weather, was so simple. We disengaged from the usual small talk among adults at the table, and lay on the carpet to listen deeply to two wise women. One happens to be thirteen years old; the other is ten. In a few years, we'll be back to celebrate Rachel getting bat mitzvahed. We'll remember to bring our own weather.