My Aunt Debbie used to say during some of my holiday meals “well… this is non-traditional.”
Mostly at times when I would serve butter and garlic covered shrimp with my pork tenderloin for Easter.
I like to push the envelope that way sometimes.
I’ve been struggling with traditions lately.
Because traditions change. All the time.
This year I cooked Thanksgiving dinner. As I have for the last 10 years. And every thing was beautiful and the food was wonderful. I just had different help (thank you so much!) And I had been struggling with that. But at the end of the day… I cooked, I ate, I drank, I laughed, I slept. Just as I always have.
And the next day, a day I would normally spend in my pajamas, eating pumpkin pie and coffee for breakfast, listening to Christmas music, I was on the road down south, to spend the day in dialysis with Debbie.
Traditions change all the time.
Change is the only constant really. I know that. I have lived that. Over and over.
But I also went to the mountains this weekend. A place I have come to love. Unexpectedly. A place a grew up in, but didn’t appreciate until recently. A place to breathe. Feel the sunshine when I need it. I went to get a tree with my family, something I have always pushed against. But my house has adorned a Charlie Brown tree for years. And as I sit in my office, one that wasn’t here a year ago, also something new…. it’s right there. Right in front of me because the turtle needed a place to live for a while and the tree couldn’t possible take his place. And I do love the lights. And the air of the mountains…. fills my soul. I needed it.
My son did it all this year. Every bit. He picked it out. He cut it down. And he drug it to the car. It’s tradition. But different. Because he did it. Maybe it wasn’t non traditional… just different.
