L'Chayim!

This was the loveliest New Year celebration I have had so far.

My friend Kristen and me threw a feast for some friends, based on the principles of the Jewish New Year celebration, Rosh Hashana. We were inspired by a chapter in a cookbook revolving around this theme, captivated by the idea of symbolizing with food what you wish to see in the new year. This directly contrasts with how many of us approach New Year's Eve--with regrets, disappointments, and other letdowns of the past year (and usually, of the Eve itself, which rarely lives up to our expectations). Two New-Year's cynics, we determined to follow the Jewish tradition of taking in only what is light and sweet.

Thus, New Year's Eve day was spent on the 4th floor of the Boiler Room, which is an art co-op, in the company of occasional helpers, doing what I love best: essentially, building friendship while doing useful and beauty-producing things. Amazing to me was the joy to be found in the simple things even in the process, like the thin ring of bright green in between the pale place where a potato had been peeled and the brown skin, the pliability of challah dough, the brilliance and bursting of pomegranate jewels. All of the preparation eventually led up to a most stunning little dinner by candlelight with phenomenal individuals. We passed around apples to dip in honey, speaking over one another a blessing of hope, joy, abundance, victory, and fullness. We ingested abundance as spinach and leek tart, prosperity as honey-roasted carrot coins, mashed potatoes, lemon roast chicken, and sweet, rich challah bread fillled our bellies. And as a final benediction for the new year, we had honey cake with pomegranate seeds to symbolize sweetness and the new fruit, and a toast of milk and honey, as the assurance that we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Then, as a sense of celebration set in, this naturally flowed into a dance party nearly free of inhibition; our movements literally went from angry robots to ballerinas to sea creatures. Which, after all the rich food, did take out some of the lightweight boys in attendance.

Following the feast and a mild clean-up, some of us headed to a house show in the neighborhood. The old house was dark inside and thick with a not-unpleasant, manly smoke smell. Standing atop a trunk, overlooking the dreads and beards and beads, we enjoyed the talents of a crust-punk trio from Seattle, who through banjo/accordion/guitar/screamo taught about the evils of consumerism. Pure delight, and a nice adventure. As was the dwindling bonfire out back made from treated wood, not quite able to warm my stockinged legs. Yet the camaraderie was warm and so we stayed until quite chilled through.