creating new traditions, part 2
crickets, birds, and unmade plans
Last night, the crickets were impressively loud. I sat inside with all the windows open: a happy medium between inside and outside, summer evening air without mosquitoes, darkness but with lamplight. Every year, I marvel at how loud crickets can be. How, when we’re not at a party, surrounded by family - when we turn off the music - the air sings. I imagine voices, even though it’s actually the sound of their wings rubbing together. What does it mean? What are they saying? I wonder the same when I listen to birds from the deck in the mornings. Kookaburras cackle, magpies warble, cockatoos scream, mynas yell right into each other’s faces (no, the birds are not sweet and delicate here, but they have so much character!). It’s like a big family Christmas gathering, every morning. So much to say, all at once.
Immediately after I sent my last letter, I had the feeling that it wasn’t finished. What I wrote was true - I do want to consciously create new traditions in this season of my life - but there’s a balance, isn’t there? Some traditions are worth keeping: the ones that feel good, the ones that remind us of what matters, still, even after so much has changed.
In the end, it rained all day and thwarted my beach plans. I was disappointed as I’d been looking forward to spending Christmas this way for weeks. Of course, you can still swim in the rain, and if I lived closer to the beach I probably would have. But my neighbours also reminded me that every Christmas morning, we meet for breakfast at someone’s letterbox or carport (usually ours), before everyone heads off to their own gatherings. Someone makes coffee. Others bring food. Is it alright if we still do that? they asked me on Christmas Eve. There was no obligation for me to be there. I thought about driving an hour each way to swim with Nala in the rain, early because dogs are only allowed before 10am. Or simply sitting with the neighbours in our driveway. I replied to them, Yes of course! and made a banana cake to share. I thought of my mum who started this tradition years ago. For all I miss her, especially on Christmas day (the anniversary of her passing), I’m reminded that it’s possible to still enjoy things that once made you happy but now include sadness. It’s possible to miss someone and celebrate them at the same time. It’s possible to enjoy old traditions in new ways, and create new ones while still appreciating old ones that no longer feel like they fit.
My best-laid plans went out the window with the rain. But new plans fell into place, settling like puddles. The day unfolded and passed. I was ok. There will be plenty of other days for the beach, and sometimes the unplanned things are the best parts.
I hope you’re well, whatever you have planned, or unplanned, in this season.
Until next time,
Amy
My dad passed on Christmas Day, too, more than 20 years ago. His presence -- his absence -- still lingers over everything no matter how much our family traditions have shifted in the years, no matter how many of my sisters and our families make it home for the holiday any given year. Old and new can exist simultaneously.