Moments to Treasure

I’m half-way through The Power of Myth, a fascinating transcription of Bill Moyers interview with Joseph Campbell in 1985-6. Their discussion often returns to the lack of important, shared myth, of ritual, in today’s society, outside of the churches, many of which are losing members at a speedy clip. Even in religious practice, Campbell believes the sacredness of ritual has largely been lost, replaced with “homey and cozy” ceremonies that no longer take its participants outside themselves to the transcendent experience. Familiarity and comfort take precedent over mystery and ecstasy.

“One important part of ancient ritual was that it made you a member of the tribe, a member of the community, a member of society,” Campbell says. And while he notes Western culture is more concerned with the individual than community, we still value shared experiences, when we can find them. “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” Or for the younger generations, on 9/11. National sporting events like March Madness and blockbuster movies give us something to reference in daily interactions, to communicate with and through.

All this has been swirling through my brain, wondering at my own lack of ritual and tradition as I separate from the religion of my youth. How do we celebrate important events and mark the passing of time? A silly Facebook posting reminded me: we use movies.

At the opening of spring training, in celebration of the end of winter, hubby and I curl up for our annual viewing of Field of Dreams and Bull Durham. Major League is usually on the list, but I couldn’t face another Charlie Sheen marathon this year. The winter holiday season is marked by White Christmas on December 15th, never earlier. On Christmas Eve, we watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas in the original Dr. Seuss cartoon version, not the awful Jim Carey remake. And for twenty-plus years, we’ve shared New Year’s Eve with dear friends, grilling steaks and watching noteworthy movies we missed earlier in the year before switching to the ball drop in Times Square – another national shared experience.

The Facebook post referenced another treasured movie we haven’t seen in far too long, The Princess Bride, and there are others in our selected DVD collection that we rarely view. So I’ve decided we need to add more movies to mark annual events. The Princess Bride is good for Valentine’s Day (an annoying Hallmark holiday, but there it is). I have some issues with the latent misogyny in The Quiet Man, but it’s one of hubby’s favorite because of the setting, so it can mark St. Patrick’s Day. Independence Day goes without saying. For our wedding anniversary, The Way We Were, the first romantic movie we saw when we were dating (yes, we’ve been together that long). The soundtrack of Memories by Barbara Streisand became ‘our song,’ with teenage naiveté overlooking the fact it was about a relationship that failed. Since we don’t like horror movies, Young Frankenstein will do for Halloween and the end of autumn.

I’m sure I’m missing a few other good opportunities to establish new ritual in our life. What movies mark your special events?

I don't believe in frettin' and grievin';
Why mess around with strife?
I never was cut out to step and strut out.
Give me the simple life. (link)

I’ll dive right in by saying I am not a fan of the holiday season...at all. Get the ‘Bah, humbug!’ out of the way and hear me out. I don’t like any Hallmark holiday, and an ultra-condensed six-week (we can only wish it were that short!) phantasmagoric overload of tinsel and twinkle and tinny rehashed music is just too much to bear.

I don’t need a date on the calendar to remind me to be thankful for my family and friends, for the life we share. That internal gratitude is all that keeps me going in the face of the often petty and spiteful society we find ourselves immersed in. Yet every November, we cram upwards of twenty of us into one medium-sized home (no McMansions in our family), juggle paper (or worse, Styrofoam) plates full of high-calorie food we avoid the rest of the year, stuff ourselves to uncomfortable condition, and then far too often scurry off to the other side of the family for round two. The too-short visit and the crush of bodies are not conducive to any real connection, no chance to catch up on events since the last get-together. We barely get past the when did you cut your hair...how’s school...are you still working at XX and it’s time to hit the road, especially for those of us who dared move out of town away from the family fold.

Hallmark, Hollywood and television would like us to believe holidays are a picture-perfect wonderland of love and tradition. Expectations are set impossibly high, stress levels rise to match, and exhausting efforts to recreate that Currier & Ives scene take over. If you buy into the hype, the whole thing can be nothing but a disappointment on at least some level.

Which is why I prefer less fuss, less hype, and smaller, simpler gatherings on more frequent occasions. We’ve started our own tradition of birthday dinners out, just hubby and me with our kids and their significant others, or with our parents when we can work out the logistics. On a good year, that gives up eight or more chances to share a nice meal that doesn’t destroy healthy eating habits in one fell swoop and to stay up-to-date on more mundane, but ultimately more important, topics of life. We stay connected. And we are thankful.

Don’t even get me started on Christmas...

Practical traditions

Baking is taking up a good portion of my time these days as I enjoy a self-imposed sabbatical from academia before diving into my thesis in January. Bread baking is a regular event, but as the winter holidays approach, I dig out the recipes for sweets. We’ve jettisoned a good number of mindless (and in my opinion, pointless) traditions over the years, but the baked goods give rise to meaning of their own.

Topping that list is my great-aunt Zella’s Friendship Cookies, which are always greeted with raves when they appear on the buffet table. I don’t remember Aunt Zella much, really, but she – and her recipe – is a tangible connection to my grandfather, Chick Little. He was the primary male role model in my early childhood (Sorry, Dad, but it’s ok. We’re good now, and you know I love you!).

Grandma and Grandpa Little offered stability, grounding, and a sense of home that was difficult to grasp as my mother struggled to find her place in the world as a single mom. I don’t remember Grandma baking Aunt Zella’s cookies very often, but she had so many wonderful recipes (Banana Nut Bread – another holiday favorite!) of her own I’m sure she never felt the need to borrow from a sister-in-law. Their home was the center of my existence, even after Mom remarried and we moved twenty-five miles away. Grandma and Grandpa were always there for me.

The Friendship Cookie is a basic sugar cookie, but with a unique twist that makes them extra-special – kind of like Grandma and Grandpa. They were simple, down-to-earth people, not concerned with material goods or social status. Family was the reason for their hard work, from Grandpa’s forty-odd years at the gravel pit followed by another dozen at the township landfill, to Grandma’s gardening, canning, sewing, baking and general mothering of all the grandkids and our assorted friends. But by simple I do not mean unintelligent. While I’m pretty sure neither of them graduated high school (mid-1920s), they were wise in the ways that matter. They knew money was a tool, not an end; they taught us kids to treat others with respect, no matter their social standing or skin color; and they loved each other throughout nearly 53 years of marriage, right up until Grandpa died just five days shy of 85 years.

Baking several batches of Aunt Zella’s cookies every holiday season is a long process, but it gives me time to reflect on those years with Grandma and Grandpa, to converse with them mentally, and to remember the love they shared so willingly.

As traditions go, it’s one I plan to keep.