I grew up here, so you'd think it wouldn't surprise me, every single year, how December in Seattle is so mercilessly dark (not to mention soggy). Seventeen daily hours of darkness intensifies the joy of the Chanukah lights, for sure, but then it also emphasizes how quickly those little bastards burn.
It was a kickass Chanukah: tons of guests, a different fried food each night (set to culminate with three whole deep-fried chickens), Golem and Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players playing the Crocodile for The Eight, and we even extended the party a couple of days with our first Coffeehouse event, which brought a writer/actor, three singer/songwriters, a couple jazzmen, a juggler, and a bunch of other cool kids into our living room. But high highs set you up for low lows when the sun isn't around to catch you.
A week after Chanukah it sank in that my housemates, house, and I were all kind of wrecked. Keeping up with hoards of guests is tough when your best dishwasher is in India, when your best cook has a repetitive-stress injury from so much cooking, and when everyone has the blues. The Crocodile -- one of my favorite Seattle clubs since, gosh, the '90s, and where it had been so sweet seeing the mob of Jews in their urban-hipster-wear all hugging each other hello just a week earlier -- suddenly closed forever. It wasn't even the darkest day yet, and there I was, tired, a little sad, suffering from party withdrawal, and feeling unmistakably like I had just eaten an awful lot of fried food.
Right around Solstice I think I hit bottom. Our director at work wanted to know why my output had lightened up in recent weeks despite major deadlines with major clients. Knowing that it was because I'd been putting so much energy into the house, and knowing at the same time that going back to that house at the end of the day was not going to make me feel better, put me in a dark mood on my way home. Maybe, I thought, it's time to move into a yurt in the woods, or at least a nice, tame studio apartment.
When I did get home that night, however, my housemates showed me the trophy and a very sweet letter we had received as an award for being "Moishe House of the Month" for November. It could not have been better timed.
Now Tamar has returned from India, my best friend is moving back to Seattle from Lahore, Pakistan, we're planning my birthday party, and the days are just beginning to lengthen. And we're freaking Moishe House of the Month, baby!
Happy New Year
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