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The author writes as to how following traditions may seem like a waste of time, but they end up adding meaning to our lives.
December has a way of making the most unemotional and pragmatic among us nostalgic and philosophical. Maybe it is thanks to the traditions we willingly and even ardently revive at Christmas. We feel impelled to do things which we saw our parents and grandparents do, at this time of year. For the rest of the year though we march to the beat of a modern drummer.
As much as I vow that I will not exhaust myself by making all those sweets my mother used to make, really don’t need to pull all those shiny baubles out of the loft to dress our fake fir tree and spend hours figuring out how to make our crib- as December rolls around, I find myself taking out my marzipan moulds and nagging G to take down the decorations and the Star shaped Christmas lantern from the loft.
I try to figure out how far my rusty sweet making skills can be stretched- marzipan(yes) Kulkuls (definitely) coconut candy( maybe) coconut cake (yes) and hopefully a fruitcake that smells richly of rum and spice. The menu has to be planned, the ingredients bought. The house has to be cleaned, curtains need to be washed. There are a million things to do and slowly, unwittingly, I get drawn into exactly the same situation I promised myself I would not get into.
And yet, somewhere inside I know, that superficially meaningless though these traditions may seem, thread by thread they add richness and sheen to the fabric of our lives. The memories made will last a lifetime. And wherever the next generation might choose to lead their lives, these memories will remain a link to their childhood home and family. And perhaps they too, might feel the same impulse and carry on a few of these traditions, albeit in a modified form.
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