Dear readers and friends,
Last post I wrote about standing in the shadow of traditions and today more of those traditions are realized, some older than me and others of my making.
First, the goose I serve for Christmas dinner (tomorrow) is baking and the house smells with onions, oranges and butter. The goose is my tradition having grown up with a traditional turkey. For 20 years I have created an old-fashioned Dickens dinner and today I smile knowing I have my own, long-standing tradition.
Next, this past Sunday my husband and I spent the afternoon making chocolate chip cookies. Ah, the smell! And as they cooled and we shoveled them in our mouths, the recipe was my mothers, the dishes I used were her old china and it all came together on that tablecloth I told you about. Oh it brought happy tears to my eyes as we licked chocolate from our fingers.
Tonight, I look around the house and see decorations on my tree that speak of years of collecting, each ornament holding a special meaning with some of them older than me. But the tradition of how I prepare the tree, what lights we use and why…these are our traditions, tenderly held.
Also tonight I will meet best friend Melonie online where we will chat and finally, lovingly, wish each other a Merry Christmas before sending each other off to our families. This is our tradition, one over a decade old that I think even she has come to cherish.
Twas the night before Christmas…and Clement Moore’s poem is also a sweet tradition. I may be 55 years young but a read-aloud of this old poem is another tradition that will happen around midnight tonight. Stockings are hung over the fireplace (and rumor has it that they are already full!), another tradition carried from my youth.
All around me are the roots of my life, traditions created by generations past, continued by me, with new traditions of my making before me. There is great comfort in this traditional world I live in, filled with memories and rooted in love.
Finally, after all the snacking tonight and when the story is finished, I will pause alone with a passage from another story, also a tradition, about a baby in a manger.
I wish you, known and unknown, a heartfelt traditional Christmas. May ye be merry and bright in the New Year.
With love, Sherry