With a nod to teh old ways
I have an admission to make. Not of guilt, exactly. More of commission. You see, we don’t respect the calendar. At least, not in a way that my grandparents might have done.
This is a nation where much revolves around Christmas. A fixed date, with other fixed dates that orbit the moment. And, that “revolves” has mutated. “Evolves”. For example, there’s a large, decorated, artificial tree in the middle of the living space. Needs no water. The old way of calculating dates had a ‘twelve days of” schedule, which would have seen the tree retreat to its regular home (a cardboard carton, in the garage), and like the phoenix, it would/will appear one year later. Go ahead, do the calculations. Our tree is in some sort of holding pattern, with the epiphany passed.
What brought this to my attention, since I’m not a fervent observer of the traditions, was a discussion about the biscuit and the king, which is still observed in France, apparently. There was a review of how the customs had mutated, during the move from the Old to the New worlds. I miss the cookie, even if it wasn’t part of my personal cultural baggage. I have a suspicion that my own progeny may have neglected the feast, in our modern times. Anyhow, I had learned about “the twelve days”, as enshrined in seasonal song. I had not thought much about the actual legend providing the foundation.
Do I resolve to reform, going forward? Only if we agree to wrap the tree in plastic and give it a corner downstairs. Banish the cardboard carton, if you will. That won’t happen, for a suite of other reasons. I’m just going to share space with the icon, and remain thankful that the dog has never treated it like a real tree. Or knocked the whole thing over.
