What's a 4 letter word for regular drivel that is written on the internet?

"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen."
"Good morning, Ms. A."
And so each school day begins.

Rituals and regimens. I write this as I stare at my morning crossword puzzle. Mornings are always blissfully the same. I wake up, perform my morning ablutions, and then pad over to the kitchen where I flick on the light, scowl at the brightness of it all and mutter mild profanities at the morning for arriving too soon. If the dishwasher is filled with clean dishes, I empty it and shush at the noise of all the clattering, for it might wake up the sun. Clean coffee pot allows me to then put up the coffee, turn on the computer to check e-mails, put up the toast and then finally claim my prize for achieving all of the above; I get to go and fetch the newspaper.

The newspaper is a wonderful thing. The front page is meant to shock and appal...and sell newspapers. I admit to taking a gander at the front page, but my morning, pre-coffee stupor cannot handle rape and pillaging, so I hit the low brow, easy to handle sections before hitting the highlight of my pre-time-to-go-to-work-and-face-real-life morning....the puzzle page!

For me, morning isn't morning until those puzzles have been completed. I assume for many, it's like doing a morning run, or some pretzel yoga, or the morning load of laundry. I feel a sense of accomplishment when it's finished, especially if it can all be timed so that the the last puzzle clue is being written as the final bite of toast is being chewed, with an encore of the last swig of java barreling down my throat about to course through my veins.

This little ritual has been going on for years. When the children were little, this was called, 'my time'-precious moments before the house began to get noisy. I considered it a religious experience. I relished the quiet and the freedom to do as I pleased in the time I had.

With all the love for my own rituals, including certain ones I have created for my family, I often balk at religious rituals. Frankly, the necessity of lighting Shabbat candles at a precise moment (within an eighteen minute grace time) ticks me off. I can't understand why being late a few minutes is vitally important. And yes, I know the reasons why I must light at a particular time. It just bugs me that the ritual, the law, is being imposed upon me. I don't see why I can't light candles when it's convenient for me.

I  admit to a life-long struggle between the imposed and self-imposed ritual. The challenge I face, and I think the challenge many of us face in life, is how to come to terms with and find the beauty and rhythm of imposed rituals in our lives. Self imposed rituals are wonderful. Work imposes a structure and regimen of its own, as does family life. And then there is religious ritual. Sometimes, it all feels overwhelming. And when it does, and when I feel I'm being strangled by imposed rituals and regimens, I turn to the lesson of Chanukah.

Chanukah is the shining example of what happens when imposed rituals are denied. The story that ends with a miracle begins with horror, as the Jewish people under Antiochus face the threat of the death penalty if caught disobeying his edict, which prohibited following Torah laws and rituals. Jews were not allowed to study Torah, or to circumcise their baby boys. They were even forbidden to light those very same Shabbat candles which manage to infuriate me on a weekly basis.

Each year as I taught the Chanukah story to my kindergarten class, I would stop at this point and ask the children how they would feel if keeping Kosher and celebrating Shabbat would be forbidden to them. To be honest, I wasn't really asking them the question; I was asking myself. And believe it or not, as I would listen to each child respond, I would be reminded once again that as much as I tend to balk at imposed rituals, I would be lost without them. Recounting the story of Chanukah is a reminder to me that I must savour my  rituals, both imposed and self-imposed, because they define me.

Children crave structure and ritual in every day life. They get confused when routine is changed. They feel comfort in knowing what to expect. They thrive on it. And so do I.

So as the latkes fry and the dreidles spin, I celebrate not only the miracle of the oil, but the necessity of ritual in my life. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to finish my crossword puzzle.