I’ve been visiting my son and youngest grandkids, so got to share their Friday arvo Cookie Time Cookie tradition. Best eaten on a fine day, sitting by the lake where ducks waddle nearby in the hope of a tasty morsel being accidentally dropped.
Last Friday though it was raining, so no lakeside visit. But still we got to savour the warmth and deliciousness of melting chocolate, the gooey cookie softness with just the right amount of crunch around the edge.
It got me thinking about family traditions and what a wondrous thing they are. Something thoughtful, sweet or silly, it doesn’t really matter. It’s these that build memories, that we remember when we are old or our children and grandchildren remember when we are gone from this earth.
There’s the Going on a Bear Hunt I played with my grandkids and the fee fi fo fum I called out in search of them when I arrived at their home and them hiding in plain sight. Maybe one day they will play it with their own children, I sure do hope so.
There’s the Maccas brekky on your birthday, and the room adorned with decorations to celebrate your day that is a big must in my elder son’s household.
Their spotting of certain coloured cars and accompanying words of identification. A treat for some, a curse for others.
The counting of white horses (that would signify my getting close to home on the east coast after a long drive with the boy’s dad from our home in the west) and so many other quirky things our families and friends do to amuse themselves.
There’s the mashed banana and cream with bread and butter waiting at the end of a school day. The treat Poppy (my dad) made for my boys on the afternoons they caught the bus to his place. And the extra special treat of frozen milky ways, the mini ones he kept in the freezer for those, just in case moments.
The hours and hours of card games my boys played with Grandma and their dad.
I remember sorting and counting buttons in size, colour, patterned and plain at my Nana’s while sitting on her huge and comfy bed. It was probably a double and hard as a rock but it was definitely covered by the softest of chenille.
I still have my mother’s buttons, a most treasured possession held safely in my multi-coloured third-class sewing box – vintage (or retro) woven plastic that you can find with an online search. It’s 60 years old and the buttons, well some of them are even older.
It’s amazing how the smallest activity can bring the greatest joy. The more I think about it, the more my mind brings forth, I might just make a list.
I sure hope your life is filled with lovely, silly, one-of-a-kind traditions. Not the age old of the Royal family type but the ones created with love and shared with the ones you love.
Cast your minds back, seek them out and like me, you might just be surprised by what you remember.
I’ve already started my list
Leave a Reply