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| Scenes from a Chris-messy Cleveland in 2022. That's my west coast son Adam in the middle and my daughter-in-law Booth on the left. |
"Tradition!" I can practically hear Tevye shouting from the fiddler’s rooftop as Christmas approaches. Is there any holiday more steeped in tradition? Yet in my big, messy family, each year writes its own script. Strong traditions have eluded us as blended family customs merged, conflicted and evolved along with the demands of running businesses designed to be convenient for customers but not necessarily family.
Yet, most years we celebrated with gusto. Christmas Eve? Christmas Day? Or a few days before or after? It didn’t matter. At my advanced age, the warmth and companionship of so many holidays are like the gentle lapping of water on the shore: advancing and retreating, comforting and joyful.Yet … yet … there is a reason I titled this "Chris-messy." There were Decembers that I left my Vermont family to fend for themselves. Both my parents passed away during Christmas week (though many years apart), and the tradition of taking care of family trumped the traditions of Christmas. I know I am not alone in experiencing great sadness at a time renowned for joy. It did not permanently spoil the holiday, but added an aching dimension.
One year, there was a road trip to Cleveland to visit extended family including a newly minted nurse grandson. We battled lake effect snowstorms of epic proportions and stayed in an AirBnb where a door fell off the hinges -- literally. But celebrate we did when east coast and west coast family met in middle America for a memorable, non-traditional gathering.
And then there was the year my son moved to Los Angeles. His relationship with his now wife was in its fledging stages and a solo holiday for him loomed. He assured his father he would be fine. “I ‘ll just go to a soup kitchen,” he said. The next thing I knew, my husband had put me on a red-eye flight and I arrived in L.A. just in time to take in the procession of Las Posadas in the historic heart of the city and watch as the colorful shops of Olvera Street slammed their shutters and closed their doors to the pregnant Mary until she found shelter a humble barn on the eve of Jesus birth. So different and poignant!
The next day, we did indeed go to a soup kitchen -- but as volunteers to help serve a holiday meal to the less fortunate.
If you have traditions, hold them close to your heart. Embrace them with all the love you can muster as the Birthday Boy taught us to do.
Yet … if your traditions fall short … well, life is messy and sometimes holidays are too.
Wishing you all a blessed Christmas.
