When Traditions Move Away

 I love traditions.  Or perhaps I hate change.

As a child, I loved the rhythm of holidays.  Our family had the holiday rhythm down.  We made it to see both sides of the family, even the extended family, sometimes stretching our holidays to 2 or 3 different houses, but somehow, the day never felt rushed or chaotic.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter were always filled with good food, great fun, and of course our big Southern family.  There were cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles.  There were desserts of all kinds, charades and other games, someone playing the piano, wholesome conversations, you name it.  The holiday satisfied all of the senses. 

Then, we moved.  From Virginia to Arizona, my little Southern family of four established roots in the desert.  I was so sad, knowing we would have to rethink our holiday traditions.  The rhythm of holidays had to change.  Sure, we still had the special church services and the seasonal hustle and bustle, but the holidays were now lacking.  Lacking in the right dinner rolls, that delicious salt-cured country ham, Chesapeake oysters.  Lacking in classic hymns at church, in candles and wreaths in every window that faces the street, in autumn leaves at Thanksgiving and winter freeze at Christmas and springtime breeze at Easter.  Lacking in the big extended family gatherings, the Southern hellos and goodbyes, the fireplaces and mantles to hang the stockings on, the real Christmas trees that we cut down ourselves.

But I was with my family, and we brought with us as many traditions as we could.  Grandmac came to stay for the winter, sometimes early enough for Thanksgiving and all the way through Easter, and we ordered country ham and oysters from out of state.  We had cousins and an aunt and uncle in town, which made holiday rhythms feel more familiar, as we made sure to include each other in our traditions like we had before they moved from Virginia to Arizona (a few years before we did).  We decorated our home in classic seasonal decor that made it feel less like "desert dwelling" and more like home.  We even figured out where to hang the stockings without a fireplace, and we welcomed a 12-foot Christmas tree into our living room (our first artificial tree!).  Sometimes, I made it back to Virginia for Christmas and New Years, and I got to partake in my childhood holiday traditions, but eventually, our holiday rhythms felt like home again.

Then, tradition slowly started to move away.  I went to college.  My Grammie moved to a retirement home, so even when I did visit for a holiday, her house wasn't there.  My parents sold our home in Phoenix and moved to Albuquerque (and now to San Diego).  My brother started working a ski resort job that kept him away for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, and even Easter.  I started having to make my own holiday rhythms.  

Years later, I'm still figuring them out, but this season is for Thanksgiving, and I choose to be thankful that my traditions moved away.  I don't have a house to decorate or room for a tree in my apartment.  Sometimes, I still travel to Virginia for the winter holidays.  Sometimes, I go see my parents for the short few days off I get near each holiday.  Sometimes, I stay right here.  And wherever I end up each holiday is where I am thankful to be.  While I don't have my own rhythms just yet, I do have families who open their arms wide for me.  I have friends who host Friendsgiving parties, friends to go to church with and then welcome me to their dinner table, friends who have presents under their tree for me and have me over for breakfast in our pajamas, friends whose kids drag me trick-or-treating and share their candy with me, friends who give me a whole Easter dinner-to-go during a pandemic, and parents whose home is always available for me and who make sure I get my Christmas Eve pajamas on time every year, regardless of how old I am.

Yes, my traditions moved away, but my holidays can still be filled with love and warmth, food and fellowship.  I can be a part of other people's holiday rhythms for now, and I can be thankful that I have a huge community to help remind me that I am loved, I belong, I am welcome.  Someday, I hope to have my own little family and make my own holiday rhythms again, and when that day comes, I can leave room in my rhythm for someone else who needs a home for the holidays.    

I didn't even touch on how this is my first holiday season without Grandmac around.  That's for another gooseberry, friends, but I felt it was necessary to mention.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Hymn Begins

The guitar plays the familiar chord. There is a hush as the congregation soaks in the lovely sound. The instruments slowly build, and the voices rise up. The hymn begins. It's an old hymn, traditional and well-known. The words are like honey, so rich and sweet. Melody and harmony melt together, The tune filled with spirit and passion. In the crowd, her voice wavers.  The chorus fills her soul with precious memories. The memories well up in her throat and spill out in her tears. The hymn continues. The wavering voice grows strong again. She finds the harmony in a sea of melody. With eyes closed and hands raised, she sings with jubilee. The precious memories change to a vision. She sees herself meeting Jesus, singing a hymn. The hymn ends. The congregation sings a long amen. The visions of rapture fade as her eyes open. And in her soul, the hymn begins again. Love, Lynwood
Read more

Lemons and Opportunities

Inconvenience. What a hassle, what a nuisance.  What a negative thing to occur. But what if we look at inconvenience differently? Opportunity. A chance to grow, a chance to learn. Just as life can throw us lemons, and we complain and groan. When really all we need to do is use the lemons and supplies we already have and then the lemons aren't that bad. We can add some lemon to our drinks throw in some sugar, too. And the sour, inconvenient lemons become our favorite treat. We can add some eggs and sugar,  top it with meringue. Or we can add some flour, eggs, and sugar, and ice it with a glaze. Then the sour, inconvenient lemons become pie or a cake. So it's all about perspective, you see. When life throws us inconvenient lemons, the lemons are not all that we have.  We have tools in life to take those inconvenient lemons and make something delightful instead. What an opportunity! This was a poem that came from a gooseberry of thoughts going on in my mind.  I was teac...
Read more

A rainy day at the park - a lesson in vulnerability

Image
I grew up in a suburb of Richmond, VA. We had all four seasons, a lot of Baptist churches, and the food was always made with extra love.  One of my favorite activities growing up was going to Deep Run Park. Grandmac usually took me, sometimes just the two of us, and sometimes my brother or a cousin or two would join (pictured). We had picnics, played out Grandmac’s stories on the playground (Three Billy Goats Gruff was our favorite game), and played by the creek back in the woods of the park. Grandmac showed me how dried leaves made perfect little boats, and we would pick out our own boat leaves and have a race. She got down in the water with us and helped us build dams out of rocks and sand, and we would often check on how well the dams would hold up.  When I was four, on a particularly rainy autumn day, Grandmac came over to play. She had an extra glimmer in those playful eyes of hers; I could tell she was up to something. She pulled out a new raincoat and boots for me and, ...
Read more