Mind the lights? Limp soggy fried food cooked in slightly rancid oil. Streaks in the candlelight?

Today's multifaith Hanukkah post among other things post celebrates persistent light in those moments of festive holiday dyspepsia that pop up sooner or later every year and then if all the stars align and actually settle down into the appropriate seasonal wash of interpersonal if not global peace..

Please note: although one perspective on "mind the Light" would be to post Hanukkah-themed posts somewhere in the same time window as sundown, RantWoman's theme of persistent Light is that Light matters whenever it shows up Gosh Dang It. (As in RantWoman is also seasoning another post that probably should be a phone call.)

Grease is the word?

Yesterday a woman rabbi in RantWoman's Twitter feed was complaining about some outrageous moment of everyday sexism from a male colleague, something about insisting women can never be rabbis.

RantWoman suggested could the sexist offender maybe receive a lump of coal for the night's Hanukkah present.  Yes, of course the lump of coal is a  Christmas thang, but RantWoman would not in the least feel it is cultural appropriation to borrow the concept for this occasion.

Other people suggested "Limp soggy fried food cooked in slightly rancid oil."

Okay, but it would be just anyone's luck for the sexist offender to grab the lump of coal, set it on fire and then attempt to revive the limp soggy fried...?

Mark Set Church

Calamity: no eggnog mix at Starbucks so RantWoman opted for regular latte before joining the Fam for 5 pm Christmas Eve service at Little Sister's church.

Is the latte to blame because the RantFamily could barely manage enough civil conversation to get ourselves seated: Little Sister is on oxygen and, oh, a little jumpy about needing to get out as candles start getting lit. The church accommodates this with seating in the very front row for the whole family except this time some connection did not happen and there had already been stress moments even before RantWoman arrived. Other needed task: get ourselves matched up with the largish print program corresponding to the service we attended instead of the one from the other series. RantWoman apologizes for her part in the twitchiness. RantWoman will have to make amends in daylight.

Then RantMom was trying to be helpful. This year the SCREENS in the sanctuary were actually showing the words to the hymns--assuming one could read more than that the flow of words looked, from all the way across the sanctuary, like white lines on a blue background. RantWoman has no idea what words stumbled out of her mouth; nor does RantWoman have any sense of whether RantMom heard her. RantMom is still getting used to hearing aids but says they definitely help.RantWoman still notes plenty of room for miscommunication.

RantWoman was seeing enough on the screens to tell: CART transcription for the deaf probably was not in use: the lines did not move while people were talking, only when hymns were being sung.

Here RantWoman's mind wandered to a moment where she was interpreting for someone who would later get to shake Mr. Rogers hand: RantWoman just stopped trying to interpet hymns on the fly. The visitor did not mind; he was too busy being wowed getting to walk past kids in the nursery as we entered the church.

RantWoman decided fairly early on in the Christmas eve service not to sweat theology but just to let music enfold her and to think fondly of RantDad and all the music involved in RantFamily holidays.. For RantWoman's trouble, while watching all that goes into playing a pipe organ, RantWoman allowed her mind to wander toward blindness trivia: a time in the 1800's where every church organist in Paris came from the asylum where Louis Braille lived.

RantWoman also took note: there were more fussy children than in past years. RantWoman to be honest did not mind because the fussies mostly got lost in the pipe organ. Also RantWoman has been a big practitioner of kid (at least herself) in worship for a long time: in RantWoman's childhood, worship was ALWAYS more interesting that children's program. But, turns out RantMom and Little Sister, maybe as behavior norm mom police, did mind. Tough. This is RantWoman's blog and the kid can fuss as well in the sanctuary as in the special sounds and video and everything kids space. Just let the children come.

Digression somehow due to be on point: In RantWoman land Little Sister who always really really wanted to do what the big kids were doing got to wash all the dishes she wanted while standing on her little kitchen stool. RantWoman, alas, still also had to do dishes, but with Little Sister occupied, RantWoman had more time and energy for thin film physics, the human dishwasher version. There is something in here connected to the night's message about what do we do with our disappointments, but RantWoman has already digressed enough and still needs to deal with visual streaks of candle light and meanderings of God over generations.

Candles are a staple of Christmas eve services. RantWoman is okay, even really down with that. RantWoman is down with Little Sister needing to flee. RantWoman is down with her memories of the Righteous Reverend Rant Granddad: Flair pens which come to think of it RantDad also was very into, and also grumbles about candles that made his eyes run like a stream. Streaks, though? RantWoman does not want to go there. Just mind the Light; light another candle. Happy Christmas / Boxing day Kwanzaa to all