Since 2008, when my sister and I were living together in Los Angeles, we have exchanged Hanukkah gifts. I remember that that year, she gave me a rainbow-colored cross-body bag (I refuse to call it my purse) that I still use to this day. The strap is wearing down on one end, which means it may be time to replace it soon. That seems like an impossible task.
It’s too emotionally draining to explain why we restarted this gift-giving tradition; there is a fair bit of family controversy involved. Suffice it to say that it’s because we hadn’t received presents for at least a decade beforehand. Neither one of us is religious, so we admittedly use Hanukkah as an excuse to give each other something special. After all, there’s no such thing as Sisters’ Day to complement Mother’s and Father’s Days.
The good news is that I finally reached a decision about what I want for Hanukkah this year. I frustrate my sister to no end because I never know what I want; I’m apparently the hardest person to buy for. At first I thought it was a good thing that I couldn’t identify anything I wanted, but isn’t having no desire also a sign of depression? So, I whittled my choices down to the DVDs of two BBC series: Cranford (starring birthday girl Dame Judi Dench) and Jane Eyre (the one with the incomparable Toby Stephens as Mr. Rochester). Eventually, I decided that I would get more out of Cranford, which I get a craving to watch more often because almost every night I can switch on a channel playing some version of the over-familiar Jane Eyre story, which I love regardless.
But there’s a twist to this story: when I came home from work last night, I saw that my great aunt—the same one I am going to clip coupons for in just a minute—sent me a monetary Hanukkah gift via my dad. Now I can afford to have Jane Eyre, too. Funny how at first, I didn’t want anything, and now I want it all.
The Rumination Refinery 