Letting go of tradition

Liver sausage and waffles. That's my family's traditional Christmas Eve supper. This tradition started when Dad gave Mom a waffle iron one Christmas when I was a teenager. I was old enough to wonder at my father's gift choice but young enough to delight in the idea of this exotic food form.

Compared to pancakes, which Mom could whip up in minutes, waffles were a hassle. Still, Mom hauled out the waffle iron and made waffles once a year, every year after that. She always served homemade liver sausage on the side. This meal became a much loved tradition.

After Mom died, we cleaned out her fruit cellar and I brought home four pint jars of liver sausage. This liver sausage was made in 2006. It wasn't her best batch. Not enough head cheese (hogs head for those of you not accustomed to farm cooking). I love liver sausage, by the way, though it is a taste not shared at all by my husband and only tolerated by my son.

I kept thinking I'd eat the liver sausage myself, but I never did. Now, five years after it was made, even my cast iron stomach thinks we're past the expiration date.

Though liver sausage went by the wayside, the tradition we continued until this year is having waffles for supper on Christmas Eve. My son and his family celebrate with us. But this year, travel plans changed the routine and they invited us to spend Christmas Day with them.

Without the tradition to sustain me, I was left to launch into unknown food territory. Taking inspiration from Danish friends, I made Aebleskivers - an airy donut-type pastry served with powdered sugar and jam - for Christmas Day breakfast. We feasted at my son's house that afternoon on their tradition - an eclectic snack buffet.

Traditions are nice. They're comfortable. They make planning easy. But this Christmas showed me that letting go of traditions can be nice, too.

Will Aebleskivers on Christmas morning become a tradition? Only time will tell. Waffles may return, but liver sausage will drift into the realm of happy childhood memories. And my husband says, Amen!

Little holiday messages bring joy

Ah, tis the season. Decorations are everywhere. Houses, trees, lamp posts. Every year the decorations seem to get bigger and brighter.  But I have seen this year that small and subtle can have great impact.

Walking on rural roads in the pre-dawn hours, when most of the holiday displays  have been turned off, the only flashing lights are generally yard lights glinting off discarded beer and pop cans.

But this holiday season I've found something new. One dark morning, my eye caught a glint I thought was another can. As I came close, I realized it was not a can, but in the darkness I couldn't make it out, so I walked on by. Another day, the sun had peeked over the horizon when I came upon that same spot and saw the object was a tree ornament. I'm used to seeing just about anything along the road. A tree ornament was a first. I mused over who had lost it? How? And would it be missed?

A little further on, I came upon another ornament. And then another. Ornaments showed up on both sides of the road. None was on the roadway itself where it would be crushed by passing traffic. But none was down in the ditches, either. It was as though someone had placed each one on purpose. Most definitely not a random lost ornament; I counted at least 15 in the course of a mile.

I thought of picking them up. Why let objects so pretty risk being destroyed, as they surely would be? But the more I thought about these ornaments, the more I thought they might be someone's little bit of personal joy, spread to delight anyone who came upon them. Perhaps the decorator meant them to delight those of us who walk. Perhaps they were a personal message to the universe.

When I stooped to take these pictures, I saw the ornaments each carried a hand written message. "Let it snow" "Noel" "Merry, Merry"  I didn't turn each one over, but they all seemed to be different.

What message did the person who left these ornaments intend? I have no idea. But they have been a gift to me. The ornaments have made me slow down during my walks. They have reminded me to enjoy the holidays every day. They have made me smile.

I accept the gift of the roadside decorator. And I pass that gift along to you. Happy Holidays to you all!

Salvation Army gets DOWN!

There's no more competitive environment for the public's dollars and attention than New York City. Visualize Rockefeller Center with its massive Christmas tree, ice skating rink, and high end shopping and you get the picture. This past weekend, the area was packed with locals and tourists. And, on every corner there were Salvation Army bell ringers.

How can the Salvation Army hope to compete with the up scale, highly decorated glitz of a New York City Christmas? Much to my surprise, they were doing just fine.

Each kettle was staffed with two bell ringers. They played rockin' holiday music. They rang those bells. They danced. The dances were high energy drawing crowds of spectators, including several who joined in. The bell ringers had fun and so did the audience.

It was more fun to watch the energetic Salvation Army bell ringers perform than it was to watch the ice skaters or shop. And the best part? Without being asked, people filled the red kettles.

The Salvation Army in New York offers a good lesson in marketing. They might have thrown up their hands and said 'We can't compete against THAT!' but they didn't. They took advantage of the huge crowds drawn by the Rockefeller Center attractions. They upped the energy. They entertained and engaged the public. They didn't stop; they got moving! And I'll bet they had a very merry Christmas.

A gift of joy

My granddaughter gave me the finest gift this Christmas - the gift of joy.  All I had to do was watch her and look through her two-year-old eyes to receive it.

The piano? Played with incredible joy.

A new Santa? Amazement. Happiness. Joy.

Helping grandma make the waffles. She stirred the flour with joy!

The teddy bear joined her to rock by the Christmas tree. Amazing joy!

 From the time she arrived with her parents to spend the afternoon with us until she left barely able to keep her eyes open, she wrapped her arms around everything - every experience, every minute, with boundless joy.  Joy did not include sitting still for a photo!

I often find myself caught up in the over rush, over tired, over done sides of 'the season,' worrying - obsessing sometimes - about what has to get done next and whether I'll get it all done - and wondering why I don't enjoy it. Spending time with Hannah brings me into the moment, reminds me that here and now, each moment is a moment for joy. Looking at it all as new - through the eyes of a two year old - I experience the joy.

Thank you, Hannah. What a gift!