Regarding Traditions

View from lanai by Henry

The annual pilgrimage to St. Augustine, Florida from Dublin, New Hampshire now complete, leaves me wondering whether another will come.

Tradition is the word Henry has adopted as I have adopted him as a grandson. His annual departure from home, then the return home, grounds him in a place that is not home.

A special place holds stories while a place within holds dreams. Being grounded within is a whole 'nother story - not bound by place nor time like the essence of tradition itself.

On the cusp of becoming nineteen, dreams dance in the mind even as feet stand on the homeland. Dreams, at some magical moment, grow wings to lift off from safe ground that has made all the difference when it counted most. Sometimes lifting off takes time - but like family, friends, and local community- time is on his side. When the time to fly is right, the urge to go will come. In the meantime, traditions continue to hold steady until no longer needed.

Breaks with tradition come without notice -- his midnight swim in the pool announced after-the-fact --my pronouncement that after age eighteen those root beer floats (a long-standing tradition with each grandchild) have run their course.

"Next year, I will buy you a root beer float", said Henry. That is no small thing! A cherished tradition was claimed in that expressed sentiment. Tradition is, after all, sentimental when smells and sounds and sights can be tasted and heard and seen with eyes closed from anywhere.

My Memere offered her version of root beer floats on every visit to her home--a smaller pilgrimage across town-- but nevertheless to another world that in my mind remained unchanged over her lifetime. Her tradition was in that first crunch of sweet corncakes topped with peppermint "old fashioned" candy like the last sip through a straw of root beer with traditional vanilla ice cream.

It had been a long time between bites when I found the treat again last summer in my grandmother's homeland, Quebec, Canada. I am the age she was when she passed away (!) but time -- like tradition-- exists between reality--yummy treats--and memories that linger like there is no tomorrow.

Serving up tradition is as sentimental as it is grounding. Stories baked in tradition often begin with the words: I'll never forget . . .

I'll never forget those root beer floats with my grandkids!