Traditions That Last

Jen writes...

As the holiday season approaches, I find myself thinking about traditions, both the ones we keep and the ones we create. The rhythm of the season often stirs up memories of gatherings, laughter, and those quiet, shared moments that shape who we become. Just as tangling connects simple strokes into something beautiful, our lives are tangled compositions of the people and experiences that influence us most often across generations.

Now, in these middle years of life, I find myself reflecting more often on the people who shaped me: parents, siblings, friends, grandparents, great aunts and uncles, and even neighbors who welcomed me into their homes and shared their traditions. I owe much of my essence to them.

My grandfather was a quiet man, content to do his own thing, play solitaire, work on crossword puzzles, and putter around the house. Fortunately for me, during the summers, I lived next door to him. Since we were both early risers, as soon as the sun came up, I would sneak out of my house and run over to his, gently tapping on the door to begin what remains, to this day, a ritual I deeply cherish.

We would make coffee, mine mostly milk with just a splash of coffee for color, and then the card games would begin. We played rummy, ten-card knock, and versions of whist. He had this incredibly hard-to-win version of solitaire that we would play side by side. All the scorekeeping had to be done as mental math. During it all, we had fabulously rambling conversations and long periods of quiet, just being together. At 8:45 AM, there was always a hard stop, no matter where we were in the game, so we could make my grandmother’s breakfast and have it ready for 9:00 AM. My job was always to make the toast and, most importantly, to make sure it was buttered all the way to the edges just the way she liked it.

The picture above is the toaster I used. It still holds a place of honor in my home. Looking back, I realize those quiet mornings were not just about cards or coffee; they were about learning both presence and patient love. This quiet man passed his hobbies on to me, bits and pieces of himself, what he valued, what he thought, and that is most precious to me.

I also had a neighbor... I truly cannot recall how our relationship began... but somehow, she became my friend. She was “old” in my child’s mind, a retired teacher who lived alone, and I adored her. In my adult reflections, I think it was because she treated me like a friend. She was not trying to parent or teach me; we simply had lingering conversations about anything and everything.

One of my favorite yearly traditions with her took place around the holidays. Sometime in early December, I would go to her house early in the morning. We would start by making bread dough and cookie dough. While the bread rose and the cookie dough chilled in the refrigerator, we would take down all her decorations from the attic, set up her tree, decorate the house, and sing holiday songs at full volume. The day always ended with warm bread fresh from the oven and a tin of festive cookies for me to take home to my family.

It was not the cookies or bread that made those days magical. It was the feeling of friendship, of being seen and included in something meaningful to her. With each year, I absorbed more and more. This single day, that was repeated for years, became this beautiful woven tradition.

To this day, I play cards frequently, butter toast to the edges, bake bread, and love to have cookie-baking days with my daughters. My grandfather is surely the reason I love math, and my neighbor is surely one of the reasons I love to bake. I make bread weekly and whip up truly scrumptious waffles far too often! Neither of them ever knew how much they influenced me, and truthfully, I do not think I realized it myself until I was older and took the time to reflect.

Now I am moving into that age where little kids surely think I am “old.” I find myself wondering what pastimes and traditions I will share that might carry forward into future generations. I can say for certain that I hope to play cards with them and bake with them - paying homage to the people who were so special in my life. And, to no surprise of anyone reading this, I hope to tangle with them, as well. Tangling, much like playing cards and baking, invites conversation while you play... giving you the chance to rediscover the world through a different set of eyes.

Whatever your season, I hope you take a moment to reflect on your elders who shaped the wonderful, one-and-only you and to share your love of Zentangle with someone from another generation. You, too, may create a tradition that lasts.

Happy tangling!