Long road trips always begin the same way in my family. We put on Willie Nelson’s “On the road again”, turn it up loud and sing along. The song and excitement usually help us get out of the neighborhood and started on our way. After this, we listen to our books or play our movies most of the way to our destination. Sometimes we will converse about “things”, but like a Seinfeld episode, it’s mostly about nothing. On the way home though...on the way home the long road trips always seem to be where dreams and plans are made. Today’s ride back home from visiting the parents and grandparents brought on conversations of tradition, tears of loss of tradition and plans for the future.
You never really think about tradition much until something comes along to break the cycle and all of a sudden its front and center. A few years ago we started a tradition of snow skiing over the Christmas break. The lodge is nestled in the mountains of northern Idaho. Mrs. Claus would make hot cocoa and warm iced sugar cookies and then read a book to the children. Christmas morning we would unwrap a few small gifts and then go snow skiing with Santa who also gave the kids toys. It was a semi-selfish tradition we began after the hustle and bustle of other traditions became too much to bear. We used to spend Christmas Eve eve with my mother (which always made her kinda mad that it wasn’t closer to Christmas), Christmas Eve with Trav’s grandmother, Christmas morning with Trav’s parents, Christmas lunch with his other grandparents, then we would make the 6-hour drive to my dad’s house for Christmas night, before unwrapping presents the day after Christmas with my grandparents. It was exhausting...selfishly exhausting.
Several years have gone by since his grandparents passed. A couple of years back, Travis lost Travis’s dad. We did not go to Idaho that Christmas because the writing was all over the wall. We couldn’t leave. We are so glad we stayed because even though those days were some of the longest hardest days, we knew they were fleeting. The next year we left as soon as we could and had another amazing Christmas on the slopes. This year, we were sore to find out my brother was getting married on the 21st of December and the wedding was in the opposite direction of the slopes. We were bummed that it was going to interfere with our plans but honestly couldn’t miss the wedding because nobody EVER thought he would be married. We also knew we would be celebrating Christmas with the family while we were in town. It was great to see everyone. I am always reminded of what a blessing my life is when I go home. Typically there are emotions of hurt and feeling just on the outside of the circle. My parents were divorced and I was the only one of my brothers and sister who never lived full time up there. I remind myself of how much Trav and I love...and not just for print, truly adore each other. We never have to worry about sharing or splitting time with our kids.
Travis had me tearing up on the way home when he talked about missing it. Missing the tradition of family, missing the team feeling. He pointed out that you don’t always get along with family, but there was always someone who genuinely wanted to know what you were up to and wanted to hear your stories. It made me wonder. It made me think hard about whether or not we were robbing our girls of a feeling like that by scooping them up and taking off away from those traditions. This thought brought me to something Im am sure every parent before us has thought...How do you start the traditions of your own family while maintaining and not breaking the links of the past? I wish we knew.
Later in the drive, after many miles of silence, Travis mentioned that he thought he might print his book reviews. Trav loves to read. He also loves leaving book reviews. He just thinks about things in a way I never could or would. I told him it was a great idea, to which he followed up with I wish I knew more of what Papa Mutt and Dad thought. It lingered there. Trav loves these men so much, everyone did, that they are built to be larger than men. Popi is, was a living cornerstone to this family. These two conversations maybe forty mins apart were connected. Of course, I began to think they were probably just men. Sinners and as thoughtless as we all are most of the time, but something about them leaves this lasting longing for more. More time. More conversation. More wisdom. What will it be like when my grandfather is gone? I already know that my girls think their father hung the moon and I know he is the smartest man alive. What is it about us that turn others into larger than life infinite souls in our minds.
Plans for the future include more. I joked to Trav that I want to be better than I was last year, but, in reality, I want to be kinder, more giving, a better mom, a better wife. I want to take more photos. I want to be more fit. I want to be the leader at my job that doesn’t care what others think, that doesn’t care about notoriety or kudos, that simply does what’s best for all in my charge. And I want to write more. I want to see the world hanging upside down.
The last hour was spent singing loudly to Garth Brooks Double Live album. Road trips are long and are oftentimes boring, but this one was one of my favorites.
“You may ask, how did this tradition get started? I’ll tell you, I don’t know”
- Tevye, Fiddler of the Roof
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