enter to find the living room overtaken by the aroma of hyacinth. My mom pours the almond brittle batter onto the wax
paper to set. One
by one, she
sprinkles the
sweets with
crushed pistachios.
My dad, always
productive, is
changing a
lightbulb in the
corner. My
Catholic-ordained
American husband,
having arrived
home from work
slightly earlier than
I, tends to the
sabzeh, the sprouts
grown indoors for
NowRuz, the
Persian New Year celebration.
The ancient festival of NowRuz (literally translated into “New Day” in Persian) begins at the stroke of the vernal equinox, when the sun crosses the equator and day is equally divided between light and dark. The celebration continues for 13 days. Outside, the Chicago chill remains in the air. But in my native Iran, Winter has melted away and NowRuz welcomes Spring. The streets are covered with seasonal fruits, tulips and hyacinth, chickpea pastries, and new spring fashions. Families gather around their haftseen, a ceremonial spread that some describe as a mashup of Easter, Passover, Day of the Dead, and Chinese New Year symbology.
I