Menorah lighting tonight.
Chanukah was taken with calm, not to say torpor, in my family. Somebody lighted candles (that would be bubbe), and if they remembered, or I nagged, they came up with a cash bribe. Not Christmas, by a long shot. We didn't even have Chanukah gift wrap paper, let alone gifts to wrap. And as for household decoration, forget about it!
Meanwhile, I was wild with excitement as the neighbors put up lights and Christmas trees. Mother issued a firm nolo prosequi on this stuff, but once or twice Santa Claus delivered a doll, which he placed at the foot of my bed. We didn't have a chimney, and if we did have one, and Santa got cinders on the oriental rug, mother would have killed him.
Tonight, I lit the candles when the sun had gone down. It was the shortest day of the year, gloomy and raw, and I was glad to have the cheerful sight of the candles burning in my kitchen. When my grandson was little, he had his own menorah, his mother had hers, and I had mine. We put them all in the living room, near the window, and they were a pretty sight, especially on the eighth night. Surprising how a few candles light up the place.
For the record, these candles were blue and white, not multicolored.