Holiday Traditions

[bueeyedbookworm]

This question of the day thing seems like a good way to actually get me posting on here. also, writing practice, yay! (ETA: oh no, this came out really sad :( probs 'cause i'm really sad) (E agan TA; i have no idea whats going on with the font here, wtf) questionoftheday asks: Does your family have any unique holiday traditions? What's the story behind them?

My answer:

My mum buys my nephews advent calendar on clearance on December 3rd, after he tells her his dad said he didn't deserve one. It's transformers themed, and very shiny. This is a tradition now, and has been for the past three years.

Friday December 7th. It is crisp and cold as I, my mother, my wife, my brother and our nephew walk to the local library. Several members of our choir are there already, and we make sure our choirs leader is warm enough, enquiring after his wife. There is a sparkly star in my pocket, ready for the memorial tree. the tag attached to it inscribed with a couple of excerpts from Anne Bronte; a verse from 'Farewell' and a verse from 'Severed and Gone', smushed together and found on a Humanist ceremonies page. It fits nicely on the 3''x2'' card, and leaves me room to doodle around the edge, so i am fairly pleased.

Farewell to Thee! But not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of Thee;
Within my heart they still shall dwell
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
Life seems more sweet that Thou didst live
And men more true that Thou wert one;
Nothing is lost that Thou didst give,

This is a new-ish tradition, going to the memorial tree, but it's one we like, and this year, in that crisp, freezing air, my nephew clambers up on the bench next to where the choir and I are singing Away in a Manger, and joins in with a big grin and a wobbly treble. I hope this will be a Tradition, it feels like a good one.


It's a cold and clear December 9th, and my mums kitchen is still warm and steamy from when she cooked Sundays roast lunch an hour previous. I have maybe an hour and a half before we have to leave for the first of our choirs church carol services of the season, which, i figure, is just enough time to finally make this years christmas cake, half from memory, half from the weathered and wrinkled pages of the old family cookbook. It should be noted that this is the first year i am not using the ancient brass tin passed down from my maternal great-grandmother, and am instead using a half-sphere tin, necessitating the judicious use of tin-foil to make sure it bakes flat. When taken from the oven three hours later, it resembles the top half of the traditional flying saucer, and i think, is going to look hilarious on it's silver cake-board; my brother is urging me to decorate it to look like a christmas pudding, but, alas, we have no brown food colouring. It is two weeks after the traditional christmas cake making day of Stir-Up Sunday. We have almost always made our cake on the second sunday of Advent.

December 11th, my mum and I make plans for the 21st. It's the longest night of the year, and while a bonfire isn't feasible, we'll light several candles, and i'll make something special for the solstice, as well as whipping up some cupcakes. My wife and  also make slightly more adult plans. I like this tradition.

The evening of Thursday the 13th of December, and, perhaps appropriately it is raining heavily, the neighbours christmas lights making strange patterns on the sodden asphalt. Our family has always been a little bit morbid, and so, ever since she passed away over twenty years ago, my mothers christmas tree is put up on the anniversary of her mothers birthday. As with last year, my mum is away, this time visiting with my younger sister and the new baby, and so i get to do her tree again, which i always enjoy. I have the flat to myself, since my brother and his girlfriend are in the city for a date, so i pop on the cheesiest christmas songs i can find and get started. Candles are put in seasonal tea-light holders made of stained-glass; made, i think, when i was a toddler, but i don't know for sure. I pause again, irritated that the white pegasi my mum purchased - three, one for each child - are still missing, and hang the horribly tacky salt-dough stars instead. The little felt reindeer is hung where the child it represents; my seven year old nephew, can easily find it, and the obscene angel is relegated to a shadowy gap where hopefully no-one under the age of ten will notice.
Finally, the hand-made angel my grandmother made years ago - long before i was even a thought - is reverently placed at the top of the tree, and several candles are lit. One is directly below a portrait of the same grandmother, where her photo gazes out over the living room, in prime position to see the tv. Which gets switched to Russel Howard as i have a cup of tea and put my feet up. I make it home around midnight, and read christmas themed fanfic.


December 14th, 2018. I get a phone call at 8:30 am. My paternal grandmother has just passed away after a three week long coma. I light a glittery candle that evening after making dinner for a subdued household. We always light a candle. That night, i crawl into bed with a heavy heart. There will be a new tradition. Next year.