Traditions

Written Monday, July 27

Tonight, I’m reminded of the importance of traditions. About four years ago, my oldest brother and his two kids began coming to my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving after his divorce, and it occurred to me that he might not have plans. So I invited them. Wisely, he made the 10 hour drive from Houston to Amarillo an adventure. They got up very early in the morning to leave, like 4am early. I think it was partially due to these trips that began in my nephews an appreciation for their dad’s music – Queen, Johnny Cash, Journey – they’d sing at the top of their lungs. And along the way, they occasionally stopped for a rock climbing adventure. All new traditions.

Being the planner that I am, I’d prepare for their trip by making a menu for the week. I did it for myself, but my nephews would consult the refrigerator-posted list multiple times throughout each day. I also began posting a list of possible activities for us to do for the week; long hours were spent discussing, arguing about, and voting on which activities we would do.

And then there is the actual food, most notably Aunt Laura’s rolls. The rolls are, in fact, a recipe from my sister-in-law – homemade yeast rolls. I must admit that they really are one of the tastiest foods of all time, but they are also, most certainly, a labor of love. The rolls have become synonymous with visits to Aunt Laura. They are bragged about at other tables throughout the year. Others who make the same recipe, including my own mother, fall short. According to my nephews, they are substandard if Aunt Laura didn’t make them.

There are other traditions of course, monkey bread, apple pie, lights off golf, trips to the park, fake gross out menus, marathon book reading, and letting Aunt Laura take all the pictures she wants.

And then there are ranch traditions. My husband’s family has a ranch in New Mexico. The ranch is a place filled with rich history and tradition. When I married into the family, I listened to all the old stories, true and otherwise. When the boys came with me to the ranch, they heard the same ones. And we began new traditions, dirt biking trips, 4 wheeling, cold attic sleeping, tune-out-the-world reading, Capulin climbing, pancake eating, and bow and arrow shooting. And somewhere in there, Aunt Laura became the ranching, gunshooting, snake killing, history telling, 4-wheeling--expert. Go figure.

My brother just remarried and now has two more kids. When we met up at the ranch today, the new kids’ heads were already full of tradition dreams. They wanted to see the menu and know if rolls were on it. We’ve already been dirt biking and 4 wheeling, and a trip to the mountain is in the works. And between now and the next time they visit, the traditions will be revisited, relished, savored.

When we went to town for supper tonight, a chili-cheese fry tradition, my youngest nephew wrapped an arm around my neck and climbed into my lap. He looked right into my eyes, with a twinkle in his, and said, “Do you remember when….”. And the reliving of traditions began. And later when he was heading to bed, he hugged my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek and asked if I’d be putting a menu up on the refrigerator. How could I not?

Someday it may not be cool to hug Aunt Laura anymore. And someday he won’t climb in my lap. But for now, I will savor the traditions and hold the precious memories they create close to my heart. Because isn’t that what these silly traditions are really all about anyway?