December 27, 2006

Holiday Waves

I was watching a special about tsunamis on cable recently and imagined a similarity with the holiday season. The holidays rush upon us, bowling us over with feverish activity, disrupting routines as well as digestive tracts. The first wave recedes only to be renewed as New Year's celebrations follow quickly on the heels of Christmas.

When The Boy was five, my mom made an advent calendar for him. She's so crafty, my mom. For the past sixteen years, that calendar has been part of our holiday decor. I'm a fool for tradition, but have learned over the years that traditions must bend with the times. The calendar, however, remains constant.

There are twenty-four pockets, each holding a handsewn felt "toy." Every toy has unique character, crafted with sequins and embroidery. Above is Santa and his empty sack. Each day the countdown to Christmas is marked by removing the item from the pocket of the day and attaching it carefully on one of the small velcro squares surrounding Santa.

I have distinct snapshots frozen in my memory of The Boy at various ages tending to his calendrical duties: him in his footie pajamas, his curly blonde hair tousled, standing on his tiptoes to reach the upper portion; him dressed in his elementary school uniform, expression thoughtful as he carefully considered where to position the toy for that day; him in what was his standard high school attire of khaki cargo pants and button-down shirt, untucked, his blonde hair so short the curls were nonexistent, standing eye to eye with Santa. More recently, The Boy towers over him.

This year my mom commented, "Oh that calendar is looking old." I hadn't noticed. It still looks good to me.

We'll bring in the New Year listening to the Atlantic waves crash on the shore in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, a tradition that has adapted over the years from a family event inclusive of The Boy to a vacation with close friends. The Boy is heading north to the Big Apple, already forming his own traditions. But still. He'll be with us and, I trust, us with him.

Happy New Year, all.
Be safe.

.

18 comments:

nina said...

waving back!

Happy New Year!

KMae said...

Missed you.
That calendar's great!

Anonymous said...

And the very same to you!

Peace. Be Still.

*grin*

Gina said...

To you too!

SassyFemme said...

That calendar is adorable! What a wonderful tradition to have, especially one made with such love, and used throughout the years with love!

Happy New Year to you both!

Elizabeth said...

Enjoy the waves

Slangred said...

I enjoy your posts and, sentimental being that I am, especially your posts about your son and your family.

Happy New Year!

scout said...

When I was a little boy my grandmother fashioned a Christmas tree mosaic from broken green glass bottles, decorated with disarticulated jewelry. It's spectacularly unique, at least in my experience, and fairly menacing should one get overly curious about how sharp those shards really are. Maybe felt would have been the safer choice…

Anonymous said...

awwwwwwww love that advent's calendar....what a special treasure and memory to have....thanks for sharing!!

Enjoy the ocean....I am envious!!

Val said...

Happy New Year, Suzanne! Enjoy those waves!

Rhea said...

Sweet! I like tradition, too. No advent calendars, but other things.

Anonymous said...

Happy New Year Suzanne & Wendy!

SassyFemme said...

Wishing you both a Happy New Year, and hoping you have continued love and happiness in 2007!

Pam said...

Happy new year !

Anonymous said...

It's Liz from I Speak of Dreams. A bit of a subject hijack here, but I just wanted to say: Happy New Year to you and yours. I wish you all the best for 2007.

Anonymous said...

we watched that tsunami documentary last week too.
hmm, i didn't make the holiday connection tho.

happy year!

Anonymous said...

How wonderful that your family holidays are steeped in tradition. That is great. I am sure you are with "the boy" as you put it. Happy Holidays to you and your family.

Sarah

lori hahn said...

Great blog...found it through Sandra Scoppetone's