Both of the people I share this home with agreed that cooking the six pound duck would be more sensible than a twenty pound turkey. I wish you could have seen the goofy grins on her and her Poppa's faces as they walked up to me in the grocery store. Beaming as if they had just returned from an all day hunt with a fresh kill. After eating it they decided it should be the new tradition.
I have really struggled with the concept of traditions. Any holiday is steeped in them. As a new Christian I had to examine every tradition I held dear. I still do from time to time. So many little traditions I used to relish in have fallen by the wayside leaving little to anticipate or prepare for. Sometimes it's real easy to forget who I stand for and find myself coveting what other families are doing. (Time to clean my glasses again.)
So, that is why starting new traditions has become a big deal to me lately. I want her to look back on her time here with us and smile. I want her to recant stories of the first duck we cooked. How we had absolutely no idea what we were doing. That we giggled and made it dance like a puppet. That as she rubbed the salt and spices on it she said in a silly voice, "We have to give Mr. Quack a massage before he goes into the sauna." How she laughed at me for trussing the legs with a little bow. That it smoked the entire house up while mom showed her how to make "real" mashed potatoes.
I know to the rest of the world this is all melodrama and silliness. But for we three, it is a fight to keep life going. To keep our eyes on Him. To keep our little world turning. As for me, to keep the holiday hurt at bay. 11/24/13
It's no culinary masterpiece, but it was pretty good!
