I remember a year in Chula Vista when Hanukah came so late it ran well past Christmas. On the garbage pickup day that followed December 25^th, our neighborhood put out decorative trash. There were clumps of colorful giftwrap, snarls of shining ribbons, garlands and wreaths and some trees with trimmings.

I’d never been satisfied with my parents’ degree of decoration. It was all connected to being Jewish, I figured: we seemed motivated to appear non-ostentatious, non-nouveau, and non-assimilating.

I gathered my brothers and we toured the sidewalks. We collected greenery and color and a fair amount of angel hair and tinsel. This was when tinsel was still made of metal foil instead of silver plastic; it had a crinkliness to it, and it didn’t stick to everything like packing pellets.

We took the trash home and decorated my room. We arrayed the angel hair and tree boughs along my furniture tops, and we nestled the color objects among them. Finally we pulled our parents in for a flashlight tour. I think we even charged admission.

As I recall, Mom and Dad tried to appear impressed. They didn’t punish us, although I’m sure I remember some remarks from Mom about pine needles, and some cautions from Dad about the dirty fiberglass. They toured and smiled and praised, and I think we had my room cleaned out in time for that same garbage pickup.