Today is Iranian New Year, also widely known as the first day of Spring. So Happy Norooz to you all!
In the past few years living across the country from my family, this day has felt decidedly less special to me. Having an American boyfriend doesn’t help my motivation to grow sabzi (sprouted beans symbolic of rebirth) or set out the other items that comprise the “haft seen” tablescape. To be fair, I have to twist his arm every year to get a tabletop Christmas tree, so holidays in general aren’t really his thing. Me though, I’m a child of my family — relishing in every occasion to celebrate, gather together, eat glorious hours-long meals, dance, tell jokes, and have fun. And even being the American-raised kid I was who never quite took to dancing with my hands or got all the jokes (or most of them, let’s be real), I admit that I loved our family parties even while I kind of dreaded them.
I suppose holidays often put people in a nostalgic mood, and I’ve been having a lot of family memories pop into my head today. One of the fondest memories I have of my childhood is Norooz with my family. It was like our Christmas, but even more special to me with the meaning of renewal, springtime, blossoming, life!
Of the many happy memories of Norooz I have over the years, one of the most special is when I was a child, my mom and I blowing the yolks out of whole eggs (one of my mom’s many superhero powers), her carefully cutting a window in the eggs with tiny scissors, us painting colorful designs on them, and sprinkling them with glitter dust to catch the light. I think my mom still has those eggs in a carton somewhere, and I wish I had a picture of them to show you. I can still see each and every one of them so clearly, sparkling in my memories.