They were a little squirrelly at services - it's totally adult-oriented and there are probably 800 people at a time, so no big surprise there. They were disappointed that the evening service didn't include the shofar. But they got through it admirably.
The next day was, for me, a day to appreciate the friends we've made here. In the morning, we dropped the kids off at the Temple childcare and they bounced right in because their best buddies were there. Such a difference from last year, when Aaron was so traumatized by the childcare room that we had to keep him with us at services for the whole time. This time, we sat with our friend Jessica, and although it's not the first time we've sat with a friend at High Holidays, it's close, especially here in Seattle. At Beth Am HH services in earlier years, Dale and I have always felt surrounded by pleasant strangers. That was okay, but a friend is a great thing.
In the middle of the day there was a peaceful break. Then at the children's services in the afternoon, I felt like I knew practically everyone, in a room full of probably 500 people. (Half of whom were under 8! it was a madhouse!) I sat in the back spotting friends: there's Jordan's soccer buddy, there's Aaron's teacher, there's our friends who are coming to dinner, on and on. Then after services, our friends did come to dinner (thirteen people - families add up fast), and it was festive and easy and fun. After a delicious apples-and-honey appetizer, we enjoyed a tasty mushroom galette, two round challahs (plain and raisin), lots of fresh vegetables, and honey cake.
We love having people over. Our house makes it easy, and I'm a regular Merlin Mann in the kitchen: I'm creative, productive, efficient, and I plan ahead, so that hopefully when the guests arrive I can mostly just hang out with them and have fun. Dale usually takes charge of arranging the furniture so that everyone has somewhere pleasing to sit; this time there was an unexpectedly beautiful evening, so we moved the whole thing outside.
My parents had friends over all the time but, the way I remember it, rarely cooked for them; dinner parties were usually at restaurants. Where did I get this hosting gene? As soon as I posed the question to myself I thought of my Jewish grandmother, who absolutely loved having people over. Even when it was just us she would put out this classic spread of pickles, black olives, crackers, cheddar cheese, and kosher salami. Sometimes there would be a Romanian relish she had made from peppers (salata) or eggplant (she called it patagella, but the internet suggests potlaja). And she loved to make dinner, often brisket and carrots and potatoes, my father's favorite. The brisket was doused with beer and Knorr's dried onion soup, and baked for hours and hours until it was falling apart. She did not care for baking, though, so she was passionately delighted when I first made challah for her. I wish she could see our life now, with our house and the dinners and the community of kids and parents. She would love it.
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