Happy Birthday Mom

Today is my mother’s birthday and if she were alive to celebrate, we’d be figuring out how to place 93 candles atop her cake. But Min Elkin Shapiro, the skinniest of the Elkin sisters, died in 1981 just shy of her 68th birthday –my exact age as I write this.


I’m certain Mom would not have chosen to succumb to a massive heart attack at 68, but I do know she never wanted to be “old.” As you can see from the photographs I’ve included with this post (captions at the end), my mother remained a beautiful woman throughout her life.


To be honest, she was quite vain about her good looks. Well, with her gorgeous black hair (too thin, though, and later in life she covered it with a snappy wig), startlingly blue eyes, curvy figure, and flirty smile, she had every right.


If you’ve read my memoir, you know Mom and I had an ouchy relationship. She undoubtedly loved me, but in my mind, I never measured up. I always thought I wasn’t pretty enough, thin enough, tall enough to please her. And that my brother, Ron, three years older than I, was her favored child. (Oy, what a needy brat I was back then.)



I often wonder how my mother would critique her daughter today -- with my hair its natural gray, my wardrobe ala the Gap, and my at-home attire sweats and no makeup or bra. For her part, Mom was always fahpitzed (dressed up) – high heels, Max Factor pancake makeup, cornflower blue eyeshadow, and Fire Engine red lipstick. Wait, there’s more: mascara that required a dampened brush swiped across a tiny black circle before painting her eyelashes (I watched, open mouthed, silent), plus powdered rouge.


And even in the 1940s, when Mom dished out meals in the drab kitchen of our three-room flat, she wore her Swirl housecoat, 3-inch wedge house slippers, and clip-on earrings. “You never know who you’re going to meet,” she would tell me whenever I balked at combing my hair or fixing my face before leaving the house.


Mom did live long enough to see my daughters grow up to be teenagers, but she missed their more recent successes. She loved her granddaughters completely, and blamed me for any wardrobe shortcomings. I remember when Faith and Jill were toddlers and I permitted them to dress as they wished and to leave their tresses tussled (a rebellion against my mom’s constant primping of me?), she’d say, “That’s how you’re letting them leave the house?”


Today, as she surely reads their words or catches their performances from her special balcony seat, I can almost hear her asking, “That’s how you let them talk?” Ma, there’s nothing I can do.


After writing about my own childhood in “The Division Street Princess,” I realized I knew very little about my mom’s, or her true feelings during her 25-year marriage to my dad. Oh, I wrote what I though she was feeling, but I never asked her what was really in her head during the grocery store’s tsouris, my dad’s poor health, and their money woes. And, of course, now it’s too late. Only two of eight siblings (four girls, four boys) are alive today and sadly, neither is in a shape to provide clues.


Perhaps one day I’ll write a novel and imagine what Mom’s life was like growing up in her Russian shtetl. Or how she felt crossing the ocean at age 9 for a new life in America. And since it would be fiction, I could create a happier scenario for Min. I’d give her a marvelous romance, successful career, and sunny life. And most importantly, no matter how long she’d be alive, she’s never ever look old.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Photo Captions
1. Min and Irv’s engagement photo.
2. Their 1932 wedding photo.
3. A 1950s Division Street scene with (left to right) me, Dad, Mom, Cousin Estherly, Aunt Etta holding Cousin David, Aunt Rose with a shy Cousin Jay and Cousin Norman next to his mom.
4. Dad and Mom in the second row above Cousin Bobby, the bar mitzvah boy. Note Mom’s off the shoulder dress.
5. My brother, Ron, adorable in this toddler photo.
6. Ron again, age 19, in the Army.
7. Mom with baby Faith.
8. Mom with baby Jill.
9. Mom with her second husband, Joe. Although he was much older than Mom, he outlived her by several years. Despite the smiles, this marriage was unhappy. I think.
10. Mom and me, likely the late 1970s.


Gratitude Corner

To blogger South of the Loop for her Jan. 16 “Meet the Author” post where she gives me a thumbs-up review for my Dec. 2, 2006 Newberry Library appearance.

Odd Jobs

In 1952, at the age of 14, I got a work permit and my first job ironing dresses at a Milwaukee Avenue clothing store. Forty-seven years later, after retiring from my PR career, I signed on for a seasonal job at the Gap on Michigan Avenue. Those two odd jobs – all those many years apart – had one thing in common. I was lousy at both of them.


Wait. That’s not exactly true. There were some things I was good at in my Gap days. I arrived on time, absorbed my daily informational meetings, memorized the 10 Principals, dutifully wore Gap merchandise, didn’t grumble when it was my turn to fold and re-hang clothes in the fitting room, kept my eye out for sticky-fingered customers, and cheerfully moved from Denim, to Khaki, to Fleece, to Dressy.

But at the end of each day, I could barely shuffle to the subway. After standing or walking the floor for my entire shift, every aged bone in my body complained. By the time I made it home, I would sink to the couch, motion to my husband for a glass of Chardonnay, and wonder what I had gotten myself into.

During my three months on the job I never took home a paycheck, instead spent every discounted dollar on Gap clothing. That’s why to this day, you’ll still find me in my uniform: black t-shirt, boot leg denims, Steve Madden kids-sized boots. Courtesy of my oddest job.


To learn if others had similar odd job experiences, I asked several friends to share their stories. First up is Jimmy Carrane, co-author of “Improvising Better” and host of Studio 312 on Chicago Public Radio. He’s also taught at The Second City, Annoyance and IO-Chicago. Jimmy’s next “One Day Improvisation Workshop for Everyday Folks” is Saturday Feb 24th, from 11 a.m. - 4 p.m. in Andersonville at 3 Pear Studio at 5219 N. Clark Street. For info, write to jcarrane@aol.com or call 773-528-0433. Jimmy’s story:

“Two things actors desperately need - to be recognized and to make the rent. This job was neither. It was a birthday party for the CEO of The Fruit of Loom Company. The hosts needed four actors to go to his posh Streeterville condo, dressed like The Fruit of The Loom Guys and sing Happy Birthday. I don't remember exactly what piece of fruit I was, but since I was short and fat at the time, I know I was not the Banana or the Grapes. Let's say I was the Apple. I don't want to sound bitter, but the fat guy is always the Apple.


“The condo was in a very fancy building near the Drake Hotel, and in those days I was not taking elevators, because of my claustrophobia, so I walked up the 11 flights of stairs in my Apple costume and tights. When I got to the place, the self-important caterer shoved me into a room with the three other actors as if I was a piece of, well, fruit.

“Two hours later, the caterer let us out and took us to the living room to sing Happy Birthday to the CEO. The room was filled with Chicago royalty. People like Kup, his wife Essie, Neil Hartigan. Celebrities I had only seen on TV or read about in the newspaper. I had never been so close to these kind of powerful people, and at the same time, disguised as a fat Apple, felt so far away.”


Tony Brooks has a happier story. Tony (that's him in the middle of his beautiful family) has been a contributing journalist to sports magazines since 2005 and specializes in profiling sports legends in his “Where Are They Now” publications. Here’s Tony’s contribution:

“In 1981, with a political science degree in hand, I went to work at an Investment Banking firm, and oddly enough, 26 years later, I’m still there. But the real odd job came in 1995 when a mother of one of my Sunday school students asked me to recommend a good high school for her son. I had a few opinions, but told her I would do some in-depth research. To my surprise, I could not find any books on Chicago-area quality high schools. So, with the confidence of having been an Honors English student and a decent writer, I self-published a book called The Ten Best High Schools in the City of Chicago.


“For more than 20 years, I had suppressed my desire to write before finally taking that first major successful step for that perplexed mom. Also, I have always wanted to write about former Chicago star athletes and “where are they now?” stories. Four years ago, when my uncle Lemuel T. Smith Jr. (a former star basketball player at St. Elizabeth) passed away, this passion was ignited and for the last two years, my new on-the-side job has been freelance sports writing. I’m a regular contributing journalist to The Chicago Sports Review and Black Sports The Magazine. In the February edition of the Bear Report Magazine, I will have my first article published about catching up with former Chicago Bears football players. Life is good, and so are Odd Jobs.”


Susan Stone is a well-known storyteller, teacher of the art, and a published author who has been honored with many awards. She offers us two looks at her odd jobs:


“A graduate degree in theatre didn't help me get a job. I was 22, living at home and decided to waitress for the first time in my life at a family eatery in Skokie. I schlepped platters of burgers and fries, salads, and corned beef sandwiches in a crowded, noisy, bustling restaurant.

“Every day we’d get a ‘bank’ to make change and every evening we’d return the bank and keep the remaining money as our tips. But I regularly came home crying because I had no tips, likely giving the wrong change (math not being my strong suit) to my customers. Once, I could’ve made some real money when I slipped on a wet floor and contemplated suing. Instead, I quit.

“In my current profession, I have a ‘biggest nightmare’ story that could serve as an odd job. I was hired by the Chicago Botanic Gardens to tell scary stories for Halloween. I put on my best witch duds over layers of sweaters, and was seated on a truck with hay (aka a hay wagon), which was actually a very noisy tractor-type truck. It was a dark, freezing, sleeting October night. I stood on the first car of the flatbed truck with lights glaring in my eyes, blinding me. I held a microphone in my shivering hands and bellowed stories over the grind of the motor to an audience who couldn’t see me or the passing garden scenery. I don't think anyone could hear the tales. A nightmare gig for Halloween.”


Jill Stewart is president of Stewart Communications, a public relations and marketing communications firm that works with organizations focused on health care, housing, community development and other important issues. Jill’s Odd Job story follows:

“Maybe this is a common experience; maybe it was unique, but it sure was memorable. I was 18 and had just finished my freshman year in college. I had been a retail clerk the previous summer and was looking to make more than $1.60 an hour, the current minimum wage.

“For six days (after the five-day training period), I sold encyclopedias in Akron, Ohio. Each day at 2 p.m., we met in downtown Pittsburgh (my hometown) outside the building where we had been trained. We were then driven in a van 113 miles to Akron. At approximately 5 p.m. we were dropped off on a street corner in a residential neighborhood with a sample book and the driver’s promise to return at 10:00 p.m.


“For five hours, I pounded the pavement, knocked on doors and when admitted, told my prospects of the wonders of the American People’s Encyclopedia by Grolier Publishing, complete with the transparencies and overlays.

“I sold exactly one set of encyclopedias (“only a dime a day”). Qualifying for the payment plan involved having a working telephone number and only one of my prospects made the cut.

“My boyfriend – beside himself about the job’s safety – talked me out of continuing.

“The experience played to my entrepreneurial spirit. It played to my ability to sell and persuade, and not surprisingly those traits showed up later in life when I started and ran my own business.

“But times have changed. I don’t regret selling encyclopedias. The experience gave me a lot of stories, and insights about myself. But I cannot imagine allowing my own 18-year-old daughter to do the same thing in these very different times.”

Gratitude Corner


To Kelvyn Park High School's Career Day for introducing me and "The Division Street Princess" to its students (pictured).


To alumni magazines from the University of Illinois Chicago and its Master of Urban Planning and Policy Program for featuring us in recent publications.

Words to Live By?

At sundown on January 6, in memory of my father’s death, I’ll light a Yahrzeit candle and let it burn in its special container for 24 hours. Then, as tradition suggests, I’ll use the candle lighting ceremony to reflect on Irving Eugene Shapiro's life. I’ll recall Dad’s easy smile, salesman’s charm, and barrel body. But mostly, I’ll remember his infamous declaration: If I can’t eat, I’d rather die.


Today I wonder – after a lifetime of morning scale readings, measuring spoons, diet books, and weight-loss schemes – is it genetics, my own sloth and appetite, or was it Dad’s pesky proverb, that charted my preoccupation with poundage? And are others similarly swayed by pronouncements by loved ones? To learn, I queried a few friends and submit their contributions:

Karen Carpino (pictured below), president of Karen Carpino Design, a Chicago-based firm that provides Interior Design, Home Staging, and Model Home Design, offers this:

"Mon puo fare piu buio della mizzanotte, said my dear Italian aunt, Mary Ungaro. English translation: ‘Darker than midnight it cannot get.’ Whenever I'd be in a dilemma I could count on Aunt Mary to offer these words. However, over the years I've discovered that sometimes life can certainly shade darker than midnight. And although she's gone for many years, I find her phrase pop to my mind when I'm in a crisis, large or small. You see, I've come to realize this old Italian proverb (and Aunt Mary) have done their job on me. The gift in these words of my ancestors is what I've found most precious in life - hope, always hope.”



Jerry Gleicher (pictured left) is a sales representative with On Time Promotions a Morton Grove-based distributor of promotional products that serves clients locally, nationally and internationally.

(Jerry's company produced the jazzy aprons my family wore in this photo shown below that was taken at Women & Children First bookstore.)


Jerry says his dad’s words of wisdom actually served him well:

“My father, Paul, always told me, It doesn't matter much what you sell so long as you sell lots of it. Another of his favorite phrases was, If you never had a chance to steal, that doesn't make you an honest man.

“My dad owned a small gas station on the corner of Division and Paulina, and his words and work ethic motivated me throughout my life. ‘Be a good husband, father and grandfather,’ he said. And I think he’d be proud of me in that aspect of my life.

“Dad’s been gone for 30 years and my older children and all of my nieces and nephews still talk about him. He was the first person I knew who could make you think you were the number one person in his life. After his death all of his grandchildren claimed to be his favorite and could prove why.

“I only hope the people in my life will remember me as lovingly as they do my dad.”


Robb Packer, (shown in this photo with Joya Fields on his left and Iris Nelson on his right), is the author of "Doors of Redemption: The Forgotten Synagogues of Chicago." He offers this tale:

“When I was a little guy in the 1950's and my family was about to visit friends or relatives, my dad would make sure we had a little something to eat, because you never know. I would always ask my dad, ‘what do you mean, you never know?’ He wouldn’t answer, but would just tell my mom to make something.

“Years later he explained it all by telling us the family legend of the unforgiving meal: Back in the late 1880's, my grandfather was invited for dinner to an uncle's house. This being an unusual occasion and my grandfather and grandmother not having many invitations (they were newly married), they gratefully accepted.

“They prepared for the evening by dressing in their finest Sabbath clothes (the uncle they’d be visiting was very wealthy), and arrived at the appointed time to find everyone sitting around drinking coffee, nibbling on cakes, and smoking cigars. Somehow he got the idea it was for dinner, not just an evening of chatting.

“And ever since that time, until my dad passed away, we never left for an evening at someone else’s house without first having a little nosh. Because you never know.”


As for Jim Passin, (photographed here as a young lad) president of Jim Passin Productions, a company specializing in Documentary, TV Production, Computer Graphics/Animation, Post-Production, Original Music, and Digital Photography, here’s his story:

“It's New Year's day. My wife, her sister (Minga The Dark), and I wait for friends to drop over for the traditional New Year's Day celebration featuring delicious blintzes (made by Minga), applesauce (also delicious, made by my wife, Nancy), and Champagne supplied by our guests. Hopefully that, too, will rest pleasantly in the delicious category.

“I have, this year, only one resolution: to loose weight. One would think I'd have more. I stopped smoking, years ago along with most other fun things, and find that as time passes, I can find fewer and fewer things to give up or that ever needed giving up or changing in the first place. Another resolution might be to stop thinking of myself as perfect. This is hard to do. Those who know me will undoubtedly snicker about now.

“Yet, today is indeed a signal year in the arc of my life. It marks the last day of carefree seasonal gorging. There's my birthday, Thanksgiving, Presidents' Day, Flag Day, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and anyone else's birthday, anniversary, casual dinner or bar mitzvah I might attend. These are all good and fully certified occasions for gorging. Also, most any other time when food is present. On this account I tend to agree with Elaine's father.

“However, if I still want to be able to look down and see my shoes, among other things, my heart tells me that it is now time to let go of gorging. I used to think that a day without a good gorge isn't worth living. But lately my wife's words have been ringing in my ears, A day without fruit is a day not worth living! She says this often. It is her mantra. Words to live by indeed, by gum! So, I enter the New Year and to those 'words to live by' I might add my own: Never eat anything bigger than your head. This will be my mantra.

Q: Is it still OK to gorge on fruit?
Happy New Year!”


Now that we’ve heard from my friends, I think it’s time to retire my dad’s questionable words of wisdom and instead remember the blessings he passed on it me: his love of family, passion for books, lust for life, and exuberance for Chicago and its characters. And when I strike the match and light the wick to honor his memory, that’s what I’ll hold dear.
Then, I’ll head over to Smoque BBQ, our neighborhood’s newest restaurant, and order a sliced brisket sandwich with fries on the side. And as I savor each juicy bite, I’ll imagine Irv relishing the very same delicacy in the heavenly hereafter. Enjoy, Dad, enjoy.



Gratitude Corner:


To the Chicago Tribune for naming one of the best books of 2006.



To Quill for featuring me on page 165 of their office supply catalog. (Today I am a pencil, stapler, etc.)



To Maryann Mullan for choosing my memoir for her book club’s December discussion topic.



A deep bow to all, and to everyone else who made 2006 a year to remember for my book and me.

Chanukah Blog Tour 5767

I have a troublesome habit: I pick up young women. Sometimes on the street, lately in cyberspace. Am I a predator destined to be a “Dateline” exposé? Or simply a pathetic Jewish mother, with two grown daughters living cross country (Boston and L.A.), thus forcing me to latch onto any friendly female facsimile?


Okay, cutie, you figured it out. Delightful Amy Guth, who is my latest quarry and author of “Three Fallen Women,” asked me to be part of this meme (I had to look it up, too.) and answer her eight questions. So here are hers, plus my responses:

1. Quick! You must turn a plate of latkes into an upscale gourmet
delight (as if they aren't already?). What would you add to them to dress them up, flavor and/or garnish them?
Salsa, because I’m taking Spanish language classes at Dígame school in Logan Square and want to include as much español en mi vida como posible. (Corrections welcome.)

2. What is the dumbest thing you've ever heard anyone say about
Chanukah?
That they don’t know whether to spell it your way or this way: Hanukkah. I think I prefer yours, with the ch-growl.

3. What's the best possible use for olive oil?
Frying chicken. My favorite food in all the world.

4. Settle it once and for all. Latkes or hammentaschen? Which to you
prefer? What about pitting the winner of that contest against
sufganiyot?
Can’t I have all three? This blog is making me hungry.

5. What's the best way to mix up a game of dreidel?
Ask my daughter Jill who has invented a new game called “Ultimate Dreidel.” (See previous post.)


6. My novel, Three Fallen Women, shockingly enough, is about the lives of three women. Which three women would you like to have over this year for latkes and why?
I’d like to resurrect from the dear departed, my three favorite female jazz vocalists: Billie Holiday , Carmen McRae, and Nina Simone. I figure that by now, the chanteuses could use a bit of sustenance. But someone else would have to be in the kitchen to do the peeling, grating, squeezing, stirring, plopping, and frying. Of course, I’d ask full-of-life Leah and OrienYenta to join in on the party. (You’ll have to read their Tour posts to find out why they won an invitation; but be sure to check out Amy's blog to find links for all of the Tour contributors.)

7. Other than Three Fallen Women (har har), what book do you think would make a great Chanukah gift this year? What book would you like to receive as a gift this year?
Voo Den? Answer to first part: Jill Soloway’s “Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants,” and to the second part, Amy Guth’s, “Three Fallen Women.” And although you didn’t ask, any videotape from Faith’s Soloway’s productions would make a great Chanukah gift. Though I’m not so sure about “Jesus Has Two Mommies.”

8. What bloggers didn't participate in Chanukah Blog Tour 5767 and you
think should have?
Hillary Carlip, Jill Soloway, and Danny Miller (he already did his post, but this is an extra vote for my favorite blogger). Scroll down my blog and you’ll see contributions by all three.

Happy Chanukah to all!

To Tree or Not To Tree

Every December I offer to get a tree for my Gentile husband, but Tommy declines, declaring religion a dangerous pursuit. So why on Friday nights is he the one reminding me to light the shabbos candles, and is now searching through cabinets to locate our wax-crusted candelabra? Are we the only pair with the Christmas or Hanukkah mishegas? To find out, I queried friends and relatives (photo captions are at the end) about their religious journeys and learned they often encountered forks in the road, confusing signposts, and other directional signals before finding their way home.


To be honest, my own wrestling match with Judaism has been a messy sight. In my childhood, we were High Holiday and Bar Mitzvah Jews, attending the Austrian-Galician shul every September in our 1940s-finest, and in 1948 for my brother Ronnie’s bar mitzvah. And although I had always considered myself Jewish, I felt an outsider -- ignorant of the laws, prayers, rituals.


That changed in 1988 when on Rosh Hashanah, I spotting dressed-up Jews, prayers books in hand, on their way to synagogue. Now, I wanted in and searched for a place that would welcome and educate me. And on May 6, 1989, after a year of membership and study at the Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation (JRC) in Evanston, I celebrated by becoming a Bat Mitzvah at the age of 51.


But it didn’t stick. After my Jewish husband and I separated in 1990 and eventually divorced, my ties to both synagogue and religion frayed. We had joined JRC as a couple; he was part of my ceremony, too many sad memories. And after marrying Tommy in 1998, I figured I had an even better excuse to neglect observance. But now, every Friday night, with my goy’s prompting (he claims he finds this ritual heartwarming rather than perilous) I light the candles, say the blessings, and Tommy and I wish each other and our dog, “Shabbat Shalom.”

My two daughters, Faith and Jill Soloway, have their own tales of ambivalence. Although they briefly attended Akiba Schechter Jewish Day School in Hyde Park, neither asked to study for a Bat Mitzvah, and their father and I didn’t push it. Now each daughter has a different story to tell.


Obviously Faith, who wrote, produced, and starred in the infamous folk rock opera, “Jesus Has Two Mommies,” has her own curiosity about the other side.


And although both Faith and her partner are Jewish, Faith says, “This year, in honor of our girl's mixed heritage (Scottish, Japanese, and Jewish), and in honor of her mothers loving the tree part of Christmas, we treed it up. Right now it's all candy canes and lights, we haven't committed to the ornaments yet.”

As for Jill, since living in Los Angeles and giving birth to her son 10 years ago, she has become immersed in Judaism, trumping even my years-ago bat mitzvah. Here’s her story:


“There’s been years with trees, years without... but if we ever did a tree, I wasn't really celebrating the glory of Christ's birth-- just sort of imitating what seemed really fun about the whole season-- lights, stockings, a strange fat man visiting in the night.


“But after enrolling my son into a Jewish day school, some of the Jewy-ness started to seep into my soul. Before you can say Shabbat Shalom, I was making Purim costumes and crafting my very own a Sukkah. Soon after, I was invited to be part of Reboot, a group that encourages youngish Jews to grapple with questions of identity, community and meaning. So if I was at all hovering at the edge of my faith, Reboot tossed me in full force. Now I’m sometimes flaying, more often surfacing, and even once in a while blissfully floating in waters that feel more familiar each day.

“So, this year, no trees in our casa. In fact, as I write this, we're decking the whole place out in blue and white and turquoise and silver, and planning a Hannukah party to play a new version of Dreidel we invented-- Ultimate Dreidl.


“And now, for the sales pitch part of me getting in on my mama's blog (how many of you can say that, ‘my mama’s blog’): SUPER JEW T-SHIRTS! I imagineered these shirts for a play at my son's school. Now you, too, can go to this website and buy a stack for yourself and deserving shirtless friends and relatives. Plus, you're doing a mitzvah with every purchase, just like a superjew should-- because a percentage of sales goes to the Progressive Jewish Alliance, an organization that educates, advocates and organizes on issues of peace, equality, diversity and justice. And if that doesn’t get you to part with your gelt, you should know that a percentage of sales also goes to Temple Israel’s school. That's right-- WEAR YOUR PRIDE, the Super Jew way!”

My offspring and I have had our say, so here are two other stories that fit our pluralism theme.


Laura Varon Brown, editor of the Detroit Free Press’ Twist magazine, explains her journey through several religious faiths:

“I was baptized Roman Catholic and raised Episcopalian. My mom taught Sunday school, so I was always with her – whether I was in the class or not. I think I had religious school overload.


“In comes my late husband, Jim, who was Jewish. During my classes to understand Judaism, I really began to enjoy the teachings and certainly the connection to the Rabbi. I surprised my then fiancé and secretly took conversion classes and converted the day before our wedding.

“Jim and I had a daughter before he died. She is being raised Jewish. I remarried to Jeff, who was raised a Christian Baptist. We married in my temple and Jeff immediately grew close to our Rabbis. While Jeff hasn’t converted, as a family, we follow more of the Jewish traditions. Our daughter Emma, is being raised a Jew.


“But regarding Christmas, remember, I was raised Catholic. My mother loved the Christmas traditions: the tree, the food, family gathering, gift giving and the general warmth of the season. My late-husband and I always had a tree in our Jewish home and it was to honor my mom. We have one now to honor my mom, my past as well as my husband Jeff’s traditions. My girls would have played Christmas music at their Bat Mitzvahs if they could have. They love the music. They love the tree – my mom’s penguin ornaments always go up first.

“So, yes, it’s eclectic. But it’s about honoring, respecting and finding the parts of every season and each other that touch us.”


Finally, Tommy’s golf/bowling buddy, Hal “Tiger” Temkin (Jewish), offers this tale of the tree he and his wife Alice Herman display in their suburban home:

“Alice grew up in a Catholic home and went to Catholic grammar school. She has always loved Christmas, and all the symbolism of the holiday, and has always gone the limit in decorating our home for the holidays.


“In addition to the tree with her collection of ornaments and lights, and a few Stars of David’s sprinkled in, there is cotton ‘snow’ at the base with a village complete with homes and people; a lighted Santa face on the wall; assorted Santa's, reindeer, elves and stuffed animals around the room; a miniature sled propped against the side of the couch; and stockings hung up for everyone in our family.

“Our homage to Hanukkah is limited to lighting the menorah candles whenever anyone is visiting -- the whole menorah, no matter the night -- in a beautiful blaze of our love and friendship for all our family and friends.”


And now, in closing, from the Soloway-Madison family to all of you: Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy New Year!

Photo Captions
1. Christmas trees for sale at Target.
2. Paltry in comparison, Target’s Hanukkah display.
3. Me, reading from the Torah at my Bat Mitzvah, May 6, 1989.
4. Wedding day, Jan. 13, 1998 at the Treasure Island Hotel, with an ecumenical minister presiding.
5. Catie Curtis, Sean Staples, and Jennifer Kimball in publicity shot for Faith’s “Jesus Christ Has Two Mommies.”
6. My granddaughter, and the Christmas tree supplied by her two mommies.
7. The Christmas tree, consisting of 130 balsam firs, that stands in Chicago’s Daley Plaza.
8. The Hanukkah Menorah on Daley Plaza, courtesy of Lubavitch Chabad, Center for Jewish Life.
9. Jill and my grandson in their Superjew t-shirts.
10. Emma Brown, Molly Varon (with her favorite Disney menorah), Laura Varon Brown, and Jeff Brown.
11. A Hanukkah greeting card.
12. A Christmas display at our favorite Sunday breakfast place, Dappers East.
13. Alice and Tiger pictured in non-December weather.
14. The Temkin-Herman Christmas tree.
15. A Kwanzaa display.