by Linda Robertson

As I approach mid-life, thoughts turn to the past and enable me to think of the history of women. Not famous women or women of notoriety, but important women: mothers.

Without effort, I remember my own history of motherhood, my mother’s history, and even her mother’s history. I never knew my great grandmother. She died when my grandmother was only 15, but Grandma made sure we knew the stories of her mother's life.

My grandmother was one of eleven children born to her mother. My mother was one of seven children, I am an only child, and I have one daughter (but two children.) Each of us has
collective memories of good times and bad, but our mainstay has been not only love, but humor, storytelling, and family gatherings.

One family gathering was Christmas at Mimi's. (That's what my children called my mother.) Grandma has been gone since 1984, but it seemed that she was still with us at Mimi's on Christmas Eve.

When Grandma was alive, Christmas Eve was her day; the day for family to return "home" and celebrate her favorite holiday. For Christmas, everyone returned "home" and the specialty of Grandma’s house was chicken salad sandwiches, hot cocoa, and her famous homemade persimmon cookies. Presents were important to the children and in the beginning of this tradition, we drew names to exchange gifts. As the family grew, we brought one gift for our own children to open and a gift for Grandma. Though gift-giving was fun, Grandma made sure we never forgot the real reason for Christmas.

After Grandma died, we started the new tradition of going to Mimi's on Christmas Eve. I would bundle up my children and we’d drive thirty minutes in the rain and fog to celebrate the holiday. My children repeatedly asked Mimi to prepare their favorite food: tacos. These were quite a switch from Grandma's traditional chicken sandwiches, and quite different from the normal way tacos are made. When my children were small, the tacos were made with Velveeta cheese, hamburger, and ketchup. As my children's tastes developed, ketchup was replaced with salsa, and veggies were added to the tacos, but the Velveeta remained. This particular Christmas, Mimi was once again slaving over the stove when we got there, and as usual, the Velveeta tacos were great!

Christmas morning, now and for the past several years, has belonged to me. Now that my children are adults and living on their own, they still return to my kitchen on Christmas morning. Our traditions vary from hot chocolate to eggnog or sparkling apple cider. I usually cook sausage and biscuits for the three of us, which was my Nana's Christmas tradition.

Our traditions are changing, as is my motherhood. I am now facing what the women of my history faced...the complete empty nest. My daughter has been on her own for since she was eighteen, and has come home for Christmas each year, but I fear the coming change. She has married and has a child of her own, and our Christmas morning celebrations may vanish entirely.

My daughter , being a mother, will begin her own traditions, and those traditions may not include me because of time and distance. My daughter lives 300 miles away, and depending on weather, health, and yes, her new traditions, may not be able to return home.

Humor has also been a major tradition in our lives. We have broken into laughter for no apparent reason, other than some silly thing we observed sometime earlier. The joke or situation can be weeks old, yet we still find it funny and share it with each other. My childhood wasn't an easy one, but my mother kept me laughing. According to her, these fits of laughter were to "keep us from crying."

These are the joyous traditions I remember from childhood: the gift of laughter my mother gave me.

I raised my children alone, and it was my family policy to have humor play a part in every day. We even had special "Thursdays" when we threw caution to the wind and dealt only with good things. Bills were filed away to haunt us another day, but our "Thursdays" were reserved for fun. "Thursdays" were what we called our “holiday from reality;” it could actually be any day of the week.

Another tradition the women of my history shared was our favorite story. Coincidentally, it is a story of generations and tradition:

A little girl watched her mother prepare a Thanksgiving turkey. Mother carefully cut the legs off the turkey and put the body in the roaster. The little girl asked why she cut the legs off and Mother answered, "It’s tradition. Go ask Grandma." The little girl went to her grandmother and asked why she cut the legs off the turkey, and Grandmother answered, "It’s tradition. Go ask Great Grandma." The little girl went to her great grandmother and asked why she cut the legs off the turkey. Great Grandma replied, "It’s the only way the turkey would fit in the pan."

Thus, a tradition was born.

My grandma had several strokes before she died and each one, though debilitating, for some reason made her funnier. She would sit in her favorite chair and when someone came to visit, she would moan and groan and beg them to get her a cup of coffee. According to Grandma, she was "just in too much pain" to get up and get it on her own. Family members catered to her and pampered her every time with a hot steaming cup of coffee at her request.

One day, when I visited her, she pulled the same trick on me. I said, "Grandma, I didn’t know you broke your leg!"

She said, "I should have known you wouldn't let me get away with it". She promptly stood up and quite capably got her own cup of coffee. Once again, humor conquered the day.

Another tradition we share which comes from our gene pool is that four generations of the women in Grandma’s family sleep with one leg out from under the covers. Even her mother slept that way (that makes five generations!) According to Grandma, this helped regulate her temperature. That’s as good a reason as any other. And another tradition is born!

We all shared a love of music, too. Grandma and I played piano, and Mimi and my daughter, Jennifer, both play guitar. Grandma, Mimi, and I played for our own enjoyment. Jenny, however, had plans to start a band with my son, Kyle. Both my kids are quite gifted, not only with playing music, but also with writing it. We three remaining generations of women also enjoy playing games. Our favorite is Scrabble. I spent at least one day a week with my mother playing games, sharing stories, and visiting. That way, we kept updated on all the news regarding family and friends. Jenny and Kyle also play Scrabble regularly with their friends.

Jenny and I had our own tradition during her childhood. We had psychic ties in which we would think the same thought at the same time. Once, we even dreamed the same dream on the same night at the same time. On our many psychic occasions, we would get cranberry juice and crackers and sit on my bed, telling each other stories of what happened during the day or what that night’s particular dream was about. We sometimes wrote children's stories together. These were our special "girl" things to do together. Though Kyle was occasionally asked to join us, he felt sleep was more important. This gave Jenny and me a real chance to strengthen our relationship and form a bond for women only. We four women, Grandma, Mom, Jenny, and I, were strong, independent, and sure that our destinies would lead us to STAY strong and independent. Though failing health has been a part of all our lives at some time, we remain enduring and seem to come out okay. Grandma told us that her mother was also a strong woman, though health took her away at an early age.

Traditions come and go, and they change. Just like the turkey roaster story, traditions can be anything you choose to create and share with your loved ones. Each one, no matter how small or insignificant, will hold its own place of importance in your family.

Love, support, and humor can sustain you through anything. Take it from a four-generation family in the middle of California - traditions can begin anywhere.