Necessity: the Mother of Tradition

At the end of Thanksgiving Day I was surprised to find a lovely text message from my niece Shelly, sent to me along with her other aunts and her mom. It was a thank you message for our being the “hands and hard work behind” her holiday memories, which she has new appreciation for after having undertaken the entire meal for her family this year due to COVID-19 isolation. She thanked us for serving “so beautifully to make holidays special and laced with tradition.”

“I found myself thinking of you all often today… I felt joy…being able to step in those shoes feeling I was joining a well-worn path of mothers that create the spaces where our families’ roots go a little deeper.”

I know what she means.

In response to Shelly’s text, her other aunts commiserated about the endless dishwashing that the day entails, and Aunt Jeannie noted that Shelly’s words humbled her: “I then reflected on Grandma Wessman and Grandma Lindh and your Grandma Haugen and how we have also been the recipients of this same gift from those that went before us!”

One of my favorite elements about being a mom was carrying on family traditions from my childhood, and forging new ones with our family. I remember the first time I attempted to make one of the items we traditionally enjoy on Christmas Eve. It was early on in my marriage, and we were hosting my husband’s parents and brother and his family for a few days after Christmas. I wanted to make rice pudding to go along with our meal — the kind you eat cold, with custard on top. I have always been grateful to my mother-in-law (Grammie Haugen) for not laughing in my face when I didn’t know I had to cook the rice before mixing it in with the other ingredients. She either pretended not to realize it either, or truly was in the dark because she’s not Scandinavian. Maybe she kindly recognized a newcomer fumbling her way on the well-worn path. I don’t remember if I made a batch that didn’t work out, or if my mom somehow got involved and saved the day. But it remains my first memory of wanting to (trying to) carry on a holiday tradition.

Holidays are an opportunity to celebrate traditions, and even though this year’s Thanksgiving felt different, it brought joy. Beyond the pecan pie I made, my son and I took the easy route and enjoyed our meal catered by Cub Foods. It warmed my heart to know that my daughter in Wisconsin was preparing the Thanksgiving meal from scratch for the first time. Pecan pie and all.

As with the text I received from Shelly later that evening, I was moved that she had not only reflected on the impact of others on her life, but had taken the extra measure of jotting it down to share it with them — my mom and others — and brighten their day during such an isolating time. Both contributed to my experience of joy during Thanksgiving 2020 and caused me to realize again how powerful our words can be.

We may look back on this year with sadness, shaking our heads at the toll COVID-19 took on us, our communities, our world. But aside from the hardships, which I don’t mean to minimize, I think I’ll look back on 2020 as a season that cast new light on my life in general, and maybe birthed new — good — traditions. I’m a fan of This is Us, the NBC drama that chronicles the lives of the Pearson family, and one of my favorite episodes was Pilgrim Rick in Season 1, when the family created new traditions on the spot in the face of a disappointing Thanksgiving holiday. One scene really resonated with me. Randall, one of the three children, said he wanted his grown-up Thanksgivings to be just like the one they were celebrating that day in a low-budget motel….”for the rest of my life.”

What struck me then was the realization that my season of establishing traditions and making childhood memories with my family is over. From my journal at the time: “I hadn’t really thought about it before. ..So I grieved over that for a few minutes, and then I found myself feeling the dawning of gratitude” (“Hasn’t she written about this before?” Yep… biblical lamentation… see Turning the Corner). I was grateful for the memories I have with my family, and for the opportunity that being Mom is part of my story.

What strikes me now about that episode is the realization that we don’t really control what our children remember or how they remember it. All we can do is mine the moments for joy as they present themselves. Even in 2020. Among the good things that came about because we are apart this year are the Zoom call our family shared and the Thanksgiving meals my daughter and nieces tackled for the first time.

I was touched to be included in Shelly’s text among the real cooks in the family. While I have hosted the Big Meal at our home on a few occasions — and do know my way around a turkey — pecan pie, corn pudding or cranberry mousse (cranberry sauce mixed with raspberry Jello and whipped cream. Yum) are the items I’m usually called on to contribute to family Thanksgiving gatherings. So while I’m not among the heavy hitters in the extended-family kitchen (I’ve never made gravy; too much pressure at crunch time. It holds everything together!), I appreciated what Shelly said about creating the spaces where our families’ roots go a little deeper. Those spaces don’t depend on things being perfect or “just so.” Sometimes, cheese dogs in a flea-bitten motel room create the lasting memories that knit a family together, whether that would be Mom’s choice or not. What matters is that we seek to harvest joy. We carry on legacies collected over time, bestowed on us by others, and Shelly’s words were a reminder to me that I am now among those passing the baton — even if mine is made of Jello.