As much as I like adventures, as I have mentioned many times, I love my traditions. Wikipedia defines a tradition as ‘a ritual, belief or object passed down within a society, still maintained in the present, with origins in the past’. Food for thought. My interest in traditions has piqued since moving away from home, as the onus on continuing certain customs has fallen on me, as I now cannot guarantee my parents will be there to prompt me.
Sometimes over years the repeat performances of the ritual – whether it’s holding Thanksgiving Dinner even though we’re not American or kissing someone at midnight at New Years – dull the memory of why you were doing it in the first place, until you blindly go about each task because you always have done.
One of my favourite new traditions is taking my parents’ dog for a walk with them first thing on Christmas morning. Just an hour of calm, silly fun with their ridiculous terrier (who, after nearly three years, we’ve finally given up trying to teach to fetch) before the chaos. This started out as an attempt at quelling my boyfriend’s hangover after a Christmas Eve party before he met some of my extended family for the first time, and has now become habit.