Go back in time, to your childhood home. Picture the scenes, inhale the scents, and listen closely. What do you hear? 16 Recollections
Pesach cleaning was done to the rhythm of a rap involving beats like: Pour on the Ajax/ Scrub those oven racks and Mr. Clean/He makes me mean. Chinuch was dispersed with tenets such as: Cross at the green and not in between, and Here lies the body of Sam Grey/Who died defending his right of way.
Chol Hamoed found us playing rounds of Balderdash fiercely; Webster should watch out, the results were unparagoned. He who has the last word, laughs.
We were the address for grammen, poems, and theme songs for friends and family. I wrote poems for school projects, won contests in early grades and wondered why this was award-winning when it was the way we talked at home.
During my parents’ 50th anniversary celebration, I sang an impromptu take-off of the national anthem that popped into my mind during the Shabbos meal, and Oh say you could see, it was typical of our family.
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