The Sun Returns Just in Time

In my last post I complained about the constant overcast we’ve been experiencing for the last month. Wonder of wonders, the clouds parted, and the sun made an appearance on Christmas Day. The gloom receded, the Grinch left for parts unknown, and joy returned to our small corner of the world. Though not as good as having freshly fallen snow on Christmas Day, the clear sky was a welcome respite from the fungus-friendly weather we’ve been having. Unfortunately, the clouds reappeared the day after Christmas, followed by two days of rain. I wonder if this is what it’s like to live in Newfoundland or parts of Scotland in the winter.

I’ve been thinking about the importance of tradition lately. That’s probably due to the Christmas holidays and the Christmas traditions of my family. My two boys are here for the holidays, and I’m acutely aware that the time is not too far off when I will not be able to count on having both of them here for Christmas. As a result, I suppose, our Christmas rituals may have been closer to my heart this year.

Our holiday traditions start the day before Christmas. We do not put up and decorate the Christmas tree until the afternoon of Christmas Eve. The men are responsible for putting the tree in the stand, bringing it in the house and placing it in its appointed corner. There are the usual disagreements over which branches to trim and which side of the tree looks the best. By then, Meredith has gotten down the boxes of lights and ornaments and broken out the eggnog which the men immediately lace heavily with bourbon and start consuming. Then the real work starts―hanging the lights, garland, ornaments and tinsel.

Once the strands of lights are wrapped around the tree, there is the ritual of standing back and squinting at the tree to make sure the solid-colored and flashing bulbs are properly distributed on the tree. Nonfunctioning bulbs are replaced, and serious discussions are held over whether there are too many red and orange bulbs in a particular quadrant, whether a green or blue bulb would look good here or whether a flasher bulb is needed there. More bourbon-laced eggnog is consumed during the bulb negotiations until a consensus is reached that the lights are perfect. If only Congress or the U.N. would function so well.

After the garland is hung, it’s time to put the ornaments on the tree. As the ornaments are removed from their ancient, yellowing boxes Meredith can be counted on to remember their histories: how old Jake or Mike were when they made this or that ornament, what happened the year we acquired this ornament, who gave us this that ornament, and so it goes. There was a time when the kids were small that they were tasked with hanging ornaments on the bottom one-third of the tree. Now that they have grown, we all have to bend to make sure the bottom branches get their fair share of ornaments.

The last thing to go on the tree is the tinsel, a meticulous task at best. By tinsel time, the men have consumed enough fortified eggnog to make any meticulous task a challenge. Shortcuts are not allowed, and the tinsel must be hung two or three strands at a time from the branch tips in order to properly emulate icicles. Woe to the person who gobs tinsel on a branch or throws it on the tree.

When, at last, the tree is decorated and lit up, most of the men are pretty well lit up too. One advantage of our system is that the finished tree always looks great as Christmas cheer, the sentiment of the season and the effects on several eggnogs override any discriminating judgment.

We open our presents on Christmas morning, and later in the day we have our traditional Christmas Day dinner―homemade ravioli and brociole. The dinner preparation starts the day before with the making of the tomato sauce and the brociole. The smell of the sauce simmering on the stove for hours is enough to evoke a Christmas mood as well as a lot of salivating. Talk about a Pavlovian response!

On Christmas Day around noon we make the ravioli. It’s a family affair to roll the dough and assemble the raviolis. By then we’re back at the eggnog. There is usually a contest to see how long a ribbon of pasta we can roll. The record may be close to seven feet.

Christmas dinner happens around 4:00 in the afternoon. This is the only time of the year that we make ravioli and brocioli, and we await the meal like ravenous dogs. When the meal is finally served, massive quantities are consumed, and after dinner we gladly pay the price of our over-indulgence with almost incapacitating attacks of indigestion and heartburn from the wine and the rich tomato sauce. It’s not uncommon for prayers to be sent heavenward after dinner: “Oh God. I ate too much. Make it better.” The supplicant is typically prone on the couch at that point.

I’m sure that other families have their own holiday traditions. I’ve noticed in this area that many families have a tradition of decorating their homes, gates and fences for holidays like Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Some homeowners go to great lengths. I’ve seen a number of rural homes decorated with an over-abundance of Christmas lights and illuminated Christmas displays. Many of these homes are located on little traveled country roads where they are not seen by many people. When you approach one of these houses at night driving on a winding country road, the trees ahead of you are brightly bathed in different colors. I’m not sure whether I’m going to see a Christmas light display or have a close encounter of the third kind.

Holiday traditions do not define a holiday, but they are the warp and woof of the season―familiar threads that run from one year to the next bringing continuity and comfort to a family. When my sons have families of their own someday, it is inevitable that they will begin to develop their own traditions. Traditions are like that. Like living organisms, they seem to evolve over time. In imitation of the laws of genetics, the holiday traditions of my sons will some mixture our family’s traditions and the traditions of their spouse’s family.

It doesn’t matter to me that our traditions will change over time. But I confess that it is important to me that my children have meaningful holiday traditions and that in their minds those traditions represent a continuous and unbroken line into the past.