Traditions and Holy shrines

At this time of year, I find myself reflecting on traditions. Those family things that get passed on from one generation to the next. Specifically, recipes, ornaments, and unique celebrations. It wouldn’t be a “true” Thanksgiving without my Grandma Johnson’s celery-shrimp salad. The fact that none of my children seem to enjoy it, has not dissuaded me—it will still grace our table. And my Dad will have two helpings, because he remembers. My Grandma Sampson’s rosebud relish tray is decked with the requisite pickles and olives. (also necessary for a “true” Thanksgiving). Sometimes it’s just those little things that help us stay connected.

Now I’m decorating for Christmas. On my tree I have some ornaments from my two mothers-in-law who have passed, from my Grandma’s tree, and also some from my childhood. I’m happy remembering them and the love they brought to my life. I am sad for the people who I miss.

As a child I remember a little gingerbread house, with a candied orange-slice roof, and a green gumdrop vine growing up the side of the front door. I remember it sitting under our tree, but my parents don’t remember it now. Memory and connections are transient things. I hold on tightly.

Each year I set up Grandma Sampson's ceramic Christmas tree, she made it at the Golden Hours center. She’s been gone for 35 years now, but I love lighting it up each year and remembering her with this tree she made. Under her tree this year sits a little white dog figurine, it represents my dog, who I think is somewhere with Grandma enjoying a good belly rub.