nine.

 

Traditions have always meant a lot to me. I come from a family that is very close knit and I consider my parents my closest friends. 

I have distinct memories of waking up on Christmas morning and the first thing that would hint that it was Christmas was the smell of sausage that was cooking in the kitchen. We had a few years in a row where my family would host Christmas morning festivities at our home in the city. I loved it. I get giddy thinking about those memories. I loved jumping out of bed, putting on my Christmas best, and waiting patiently while the rest of the family would arrive. Nana would walk in with the party potato casserole, (hold while I drool for a moment) and Papa would have that pile of presents and you'd eye it up wondering which one was yours.

On my mom's side of the family we would always go look at Christmas lights while "Santa" came. (Or while the dishes got cleaned and Grandma Armstrong put the presents under the tree.) Even after Grandma passed away and we were all too old for Santa, we would still go look at lights in the neighborhood, because it's tradition.

I want to have special traditions with my own family some day. But for now, it's me and the furballs, and well, I can't see myself driving them around to look at lights. Hello, crazy lady.

But who says I can't start a tradition of my own? And then some day I'll be lucky enough to continue those traditions with my little family.

So today's mission was simple. Find an ornament that triggered a special memory. Buy it. Hang it on the tree. An ornament that reminded me why I love a certain family member, an ornament that brought back a childhood memory, or an ornament that symbolized a time in my life that was important to me. Turns out this mission wasn't so simple.

I got my workout in by going from store to store to store until I found just the right ornament. First Target. (Which was a Christmas miracle in and of itself to not walk out with anything from Target). I looked at Michaels, a dollar store, Bed Bath and Beyond. Until I found just what I wanted. A cow. And a chicken. Strange ornaments to settle on, but let me explain why I picked them.

 

When I lived in Burkina Faso, West Africa for a few months when I was 19 we had a cow on the complex. Ironically enough, the children had named him Brochette (which is French for shishkabob) and he lived on our land and we fed him and fattened him until one day he would provide many many meals for the kids at the orphanage. Africa took a piece of my heart when I left and ever since I have longed to go back. That was a poignant time in my life where I really took a lot of time to reflect on my life and see where it is that I wanted to go from there. Those children brought me so much joy and living there taught me more things than you could ever gain from a college classroom. Some day I want to tell my kids stories of Africa and teach them the importance of caring for the widow and the orphan. Teach them that it's not just about us. 

So that's why Brochette sits on my tree.

 

This little guy has no name. But keeping in line with the traveling theme, he reminds me of my many trips to Guatemala. One of the first times I was there I remember getting on what they call Chicken Buses. It's their form of Bi-State bus, or subway or Metro. You think the subways in New York are crowded? Climb on to a chicken bus. I was barely 14 years old the first time I was on a Chicken Bus. It was hot, smelly, and crowded (I distinctly remember having an amigo's crotch in my face.) People were hanging off the back of the bus, on the outside, as we zipped down and through the winding Guatemalan roads. I could have easily been overwhelmed, and maybe I was slightly, but mostly I was in awe, and I was in love. That first ride on that Chicken Bus ignited a spark in my heart for the country and people of Guatemala. So that's why Mr. Chicken sits on my tree.

I love traditions. And I love knowing what other people do. What are your family traditions? Leave your stories in the comments. I'd love to hear them!