Honoring good traditions is like wrapping up in an old quilt; familiar and comfortable. This is the time of year for traditions. I am grateful for old traditions and newly begun ones.
On Thanksgiving, driving to our annual Thanksgiving service at church, Mr. Lincoln and I talked about how this was the 61st Thanksgiving for each of us. He said that he did not specifically remember any of them. I remember some generalities and some specifics. Growing up the rule of thumb was "there is always room for someone who has no place to go." We were raised in a very small house, but even if she had to set up borrowed card tables in the bedrooms, my mother always made room and always made people feel welcomed.
Specifically, I remember the Thanksgiving that Daddy had just gotten home from the hospital after surgery. He had to stay in bed, but he was under the same roof with us all. I remember Thanksgiving days at the Clinic Bowl. Most often Isaac Litton and MBA were playing. I remember a Thanksgiving day where I was in a live television commercial wearing a plum colored dress, praying. I remember the Thanksgiving after my brother fired Mr. Lincoln. It was a bit awkward. My first Thanksgiving with Mr. Lincoln's family is one of those stories we should forget but love to repeat. The dining room table and a card table were set up in the den. There were only two seats at the card table. As we gathered together to hold hands and pray over the meal, Mr. Lincoln's mother announced that the two daughters-in-law were to sit at the card table because she wanted the family to all sit together. What? There was the Thanksgiving that Mom called and said that her turkey had been in the oven for 18 hours (maybe a slight exaggeration ) and it wasn't done - "do you think my oven isn't working?" Uh, yeah! So, Mr. Lincoln and I drove across town, packed up dishes and tablecloths and flowers and chairs and silver and uncooked food, brought it to our house, and that began the tradition of Thanksgiving in our home. We had 29 wonderful family and friends this year. I leave you with this question: did you know that gravy dropped on the floor will hit the ceiling? It will.
This year, Mr. Lincoln and I started a new tradition with Simeon and Max. We gave each boy a Christmas ornament, money that corresponds with age, and a note explaining that the only string attached to the money is they are to spend it on someone who cannot reciprocate. We realize they are not a year old yet, and have no idea what any of this is about, but they will. Simeon has decided to spend his money for a toy for Toys for Tots, and Max's parents will save his until he can understand and choose, himself, how the money will be spent. I love how each family approaches the tradition differently.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, it is tradition to go to Mom's to help decorate her tree. She has someone else haul it down from the attic, put it up, and put the lights on. It was a new someone this year. Many branches of the tree were left lying on the attic floor. The tree suffered greatly in appearance from the lack of its branches. Picture the bottom of a tree that is about 15 feet tall; full and lush. Now, picture that large tree chopped off about 10 feet from the bottom. Now, picture a tiny sapling stuck on top. Yep, that's what it looked like. My sister rescued the missing branches, and strategically placed them. The tree has been saved. We put on the ten million (not an exaggeration) ornaments, strands of beads, artificial roses, and glass icicles (moderation at Christmas is not in my mother's vocabulary), placed the angel on top, turned out all the lights (it's tradition), had a drum roll, and Cole plugged in the lights. I cannot remember the last time I heard MP laugh as hard as she did when those lights came on, for while the fullness of the tree looked ever so much better with its restored branches, there was a good-sized and very noticeable section of tree that was dark. So, as we sang the Twelve Days of Christmas (it's tradition) Doree and Mac worked to rearrange lights. All is well, and Nunny's tree is perfectly Nunny. After a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers, I came home, watched a ridiculous Lifetime Christmas movie and went to bed. Ah, love a good tradition.
Today, Mr. Lincoln is in New York at a football game. I will spend this day in grateful introversion pulling out my own Christmas decorations and setting them about as I prepare for another tradition, the Isaac Litton Class of '70 Girls' Annual Christmas Party, next week. I will listen to Christmas music, kill brain cells watching two or three Hallmark Christmas movies, ponder over each decoration as I take it out, and thoroughly enjoy my day of solitude. I am wearing my dad's Ryman Auditorium Christmas sweatshirt. It's tradition. Tomorrow, Mr. Lincoln and I will go together to pick out our tree. It will not take long, but we always go together. Next year, perhaps, two little boys will go with us? We will have our annual Christmas Eve gathering with my family; this year at my niece's home. We will have Christmas breakfast at our house. As families grow, traditions must change. My parents were always so understanding of that, and I want to be as well. Perhaps, this will be the last Christmas breakfast on Christmas morning. Maybe we will have Christmas breakfast for dinner on Christmas night, or the next day. It does not matter when or where. It only matters with whom.
As I share these few traditions, less joyful threads are woven in my tapestry. I think of the young wife and mother who was served divorce papers this past week. I think of three relatively young widowers who face their first holidays without their wives. I think of friends who have lost parents this year. I think of the young couple whose newborn child is not expected to live. As I celebrate my traditions, I remember these and others whose joy is tempered with great pain. I know that I will have painful holidays in the future, touched by loss. Those are the times that I will most appreciate the familiar warmth and comfort of much-loved traditions.
For today, I wish you peace and comfort as you contiune old and begin new traditions, a remembrance of those whose hearts ache during this time, and I wish you
blessings
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