Tradition

This Christmas has been a different one. Actually all my Christmases over the last few years have been different. Many have been very good and memorable, but they have not been the traditional ones of my childhood. This may come as a surprise to some of you, indeed it was a surprise to myself - I who strive to be open-minded and to accept new ideas and ways of thinking - but I think I like traditions. Yes, I know, it comes as a shock.

We were staying this year with an Indian family who we became good friends with when they were living in Zimbabwe and who are living at the moment in Dublin. They have moved around a lot and subsequently do not have a lot of Christmas traditions of their own because many years are in new places, with new people, so their Christmases are always different and often take on flavours of the places they are in - this year we had brussel sprouts along with Indian delicacies and drank mulled wine with brownies (okay, so the brownies are not particularly Irish, they just happen to be going through a brownie phase. We didn't complain.).

As we were talking around the table about Christmas memories that we each had, we realized how many traditions we as a family have. Mum's German heritage comes out most strongly at Christmas time and for me, Christmas tastes like stollen and lebkuken and prunes with diamond donuts (yes, I imagine they do have a real name; no, I don't remember it). There's our Christmas Eve supper of cheese and crackers, chips and dip and salami and chutney (a feast in the days growing up when cheese and chips were luxury food items that we didn't get during the year) when we read the Christmas story; stockings (literally Mum's old pantyhose cut in two) that appeared on the bottom of our beds in the middle of the night filled with more treats of sweets, small gifts, chips and complete with an orange in the bottom and a balloon in the top. I remember the feeling of that stocking on the bottom of the bed, the thrill of brushing your toe against it, half asleep in the early hours of the morning and hearing the crinkle of the wrapping of something that just must be good, and dragging it out to the lounge to be opened all together. We always opened gifts early Christmas morning as we ate sticky cinnamon rolls warmed in the microwave before heading to the Christmas Day service. Christmas lunch was always a hodge podge of people who didn't have anywhere to go and who managed to be such an odd and different combination that it always seemed to be the perfect group. Boxing Day was always extended-family day with everyone's leftovers combined to form another spectacular feast, more gifts and often a competitive Chinese auction (white elephant game) where the spirit of giving and love and family loyalty was set aside for an hour or two as we all battled to end up with the nicest junk.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that these traditions are so important to me, because I suppose it is what comes with these traditions that makes them so important. There is a deep security and contentment in the constancy of traditions and I think that this is tied to the memories that are embedded into those traditions: being flooded with moments and feelings attached to a cinnamon roll or a crinkling stocking or the smell of cloves and pineapple glaze on the Christmas ham. That is a powerful thing. I do like traditions. And I think there is plenty of room for adding new ones to the old. Hmm, twelve months to get Mum used to the idea of mulled wine...