Just when we think that we’ve evolved into this modern, global culture with all eyes to the future, it seems that one way or another, we’ve not outgrown our need for tradition, especially around the holidays. In our family, some of the basics are not much different than when I grew up, like opening one gift on Christmas Eve.  From Donald’s side, we like to keep the tree up until January 6, “Little Christmas”or the Feast of the Magi. In the years we’ve been married, we’ve evolved some new traditions, and dropped others we didn’t care for. The trick, it seems, is to find which ones remain meaningful and relevant, tying ancient and family history with the day of ipods and cell phones.

We put a wreath on the door – I like the red ribbon and to support the Boy Scouts.  Until this year,the same scout, Tom, came to the door, growing taller each year but with the same friendly smile.  When our boys were young, I got an advent calendar wall hanging, which I put on the closet door on Dec. 1.  Without a word, woodland animals fill the winter landscape until the countdown is complete; there’s nature and  counting. Donald and I decorate the front of the house, colored lights on bushes: that’s our statement in a white light-world. The originals were from Donald’s grandparents, the big bulbs, until they broke one by one. The nativity scene, fine molded plastic (not breakable), the pieces given to me by Donald, goes up in the bow window by the kitchen, where we gaze upon the Holy Family at breakfast and at dinner.

Sometime in December or January, the annual holiday letter goes out. Even though the file says Xmas letter, it is a yearly greeting and summation of our lives that goes out to all our friends, Christian or not. It began in 1993-94, before Bruce was born, and we’ve missed only one year that I know. Sometimes it’s my point of view, and sometimes Donald’s, or some weird combination. It’s a strange enterprise (see my blog at www.everyotherminute.com), but just when I thought we might conclude - since so many friends are now on Facebook -we’ve gotten requests for the letter that goes out with the photo (always the four of us, another tradition), so the 2009 edition will be published.

Each year, we get a tree from the Chip In Farm down the road– our neighbors and good people.  Colored lights, check. Hold the tinsel; Donald is against tinsel. Instead we have gold and clear icicle ornaments that hang nicely. My collection of snowflake and star ornaments from the Metropolitan Museum of Art has grown, two by two, to 22 perhaps or 24 – each year I order a set after the holiday, when they go on half-price sale. For color, there are Bruce and Dylan’s homemade beaded candy cane ornaments made one year at Sunday School. Besides all this, there is an assortment of bulbs, toys, unique ornaments that we’ve picked up or inherited over the years. Same stand, same star on top, usually the same place in the room: these have become our Christmas tree rituals.  

The shopping and wrapping is almost always last minute,because….that’s the way we are.  Since the boys are older, there are not so many packages under the tree, usually one or two items of the electronics nature, and often a piece of hockey equipment.  Likely to be fresh socks and maybe underwear. We’re not a big gift family, never really mastered the art,and not much into gadgets and material possessions.  I kind of like the wrapping part, which I do on the dining room table when the boys are out – to the music of my brother in law Tod’s Christmas CD – my favorite, and now another tradition.

Lastly, most importantly, on Christmas morning, the gifts are left unopened until we’re all up, and we’ve read the nativity chapter from the big black family Bible.  I used to be me, but now the boys take turns.  Always, I make a comment about Jesus’s humble origins and lack of wealth.  A manger, I say, where animals eat, in a barn.  I don’t know yet if it’s penetrated.  Perhaps if I said Jesus was from a repressed minority, without education but with a posse and lots of street cred, who became a social activist with the power of his words – would that make an impact?  The story is eternal; the traditions evolve.