Memories are funny. With time, they can shape-shift and fade, but often they are instantly brought back to life by seeing an object I haven’t thought about in years, a whiff in the air of a once familiar scent, or the strains of a long-forgotten tune.
In My Humble Opinion
Those three words pop up frequently here in the Upper Delaware River region and have transformed the way I view art. While it may be perfectly fine to go to a gallery and stroll the halls making personal observations, getting a glimpse into the mind of the creator often puts a whole new spin on the subject at hand.
No, I’m not about to fill an entire page with sticky, gooey, far-too-sweet, lighter than air nothingness. Or am I? Not entirely unlike the marshmallow crème, a “fluff piece” is a form of journalism, even though there are folks who would argue the point. And in fact, it’s what I do.
It’s no secret that I’m Jewish and celebrate Hanukkah rather than Christmas, but since the Jewish calendar follows the lunar cycle, the “Festival of Lights” falls on a different date every winter, and this year it coincides with all things ho ho ho. And although the first night of Hanukkah fell on Christmas Eve, it’s still ongoing.
Oh, the weather outside is frightful. Even though winter has just officially begun, I fear that we’re in for a doozy, which my dictionary defines as “extraordinary” and “one of a kind.” As many of you know, I love getting out regardless of the season.
I know it’s a little early to start reciting “The Night Before Christmas,” but it’s been difficult not to for the last week or so because (unlike the charming poem), there has indeed, been a creature stirring in my house.
I’m fascinated by commercials featuring celebrities lending their names to a wide variety of products and services, understanding that advertisers are under the impression that those endorsements will influence the public.
Fun fact: When I was 21, I fell madly in love and set up housekeeping with someone who celebrated Christmas—something I had never done up to that point in my life.
So here’s the thing about writing a “personal” column—it’s personal. On one hand, that makes my job easier, since I am recounting my own experience here in the Upper Delaware River region and therefore given a lot of leeway by those in charge at The River Reporter.
Having expectations is natural, I suppose, but sometimes lead to heartache. As with most things, there are “two sides to every coin,” and while expectations are a good thing when setting goals, it’s “attachment” to the plan that is often my downfall. It’s taken many years for me to grasp this concept, and I’m still learning.