This week, we have one word and one photo for you. Pick one (or both), write a piece of fiction or non-fiction, and then come back on Friday to link up.

Your word is tradition.

Here is your photo:

Christmas is something of a new romance for me, in a way.  I didn’t grow up celebrating it.  In fact, I was raised to criticize it.  Anyone reading this blog who has been reading me for years knows this (I can hear some of you giggling from here!).  Writing this is very difficult as it brings up feelings of sadness, guilt and even shame.  At the same time, though, I’m happy to talk about it!  For me, embracing Christmas with my family isn’t about turning my back on my former beliefs so much as allowing them to grow and mature.   I don’t want to get into all that right now, though.  Instead, I want to share something that’s been on my heart this season.

On May 6 of this year, someone very precious to me passed away. As mentioned in the linked post, I cannot remember a time when I didn’t know her and her family.  While I haven’t talked about it much with anyone, I am still keenly feeling her absence and I’m sure I always will.   As the lights have been going up around the neighborhood and Christmas music is playing everywhere I go, I’m reminded of her again and again.

One of the unique things about her family for me was that they celebrated Christmas.  We did not and most of the people I grew up with didn’t either.  The only “family traditions” with regards to Christmas I have to look back on are the ones I participated in at her house.  As such, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on Christmas.

I remember being a very, very little girl and sitting in her living room with Bekah (her daughter and my oldest friend) just smelling the tree.  I don’t know if she was burning a pine-scented candle or if it was a real tree, I just remember the smell of pine and ginger bread mixing together.  I can recall that the lights were dim and that I was totally mesmerized by the soft, glowing lights.  Bekah, my brother Josh and I just sat there, all in a row,  just looking at it.

Every year, Annie (Bekah’s paternal grandmother) would make them a ginger bread house.  I don’t know if she made each of the girls one or just one big one but I remember how much I loved being allowed to help them eat it!  It seemed like it lasted for months.  I used to look at those things when I was older and marvel at all the work Annie put into those little houses.  I remember one year the house was huge!  I can recall all the gum drops across the top and the little fence she made out of pretzels.  There was so much love dripping off those houses you almost hated to eat them…almost but not quite, lol.  I never did get to meet Annie until my Aunts memorial service (she lives out of state).  She knew me instantly and I felt like I’d known her my whole life.  Her ginger bread houses, though, will always remind me of sitting around Aunt Jane’s table, laughing and talking and drinking hot cocoa.

Bekah’s family always went out of their way to include us and so even though we never had a tree I do have warm memories of hers.  Aunt Jane didn’t have any ornaments that looked like the picture above, though.  Her tastes ran towards hand-made and country-style.  For some reason, whenever I think of her Christmas tree, I also think of the old Cuckoo clock she had.  It was a hand-made clock from Germany and I may be mistaken but I think it was from Annie.  It really cuckooed!  A little bird would come out and let everyone know what time it was.  I loved that clock and I haven’t thought about those ginger bread houses for years.

*sigh*  I miss her.  I miss her terribly. I didn’t expect to be writing about this when I sat down to participate in this prompt.  I was going to talk about what Christmas meant to me, now.  I’m a Christmas newb, you see.  This is only the second time I’ve celebrated it with my kids.  It’s our own funky version of two different cultures smooshed together and I like that just fine.  But somehow, when I sat down to write about it, this came out instead.  I guess that makes sense.  She was part of my family and it was she that first introduced Christmas to me.  I am not ever going to see it the way she did, perhaps.  Christmas has no religious meaning to me at all.  When it comes to family, though, I get that.  To me, Christmahanukah (as I lovingly refer to it) is about family.  About celebrating who we are, where we come from and where we are going, together.  So I guess it’s no surprise Aunt Jane came to mind.

Man, now I have a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.  I miss you, Aunt Jane.  I think of you every day and I miss the sound of your voice and your quirky sense of humor.  I miss your smile, your arched eyebrow and your glass mugs of hot cocoa.  I miss your baskets and your hand-made dolls. I miss debating with you and more than anything in the whole world, I miss your great big hugs and *smacking* kisses.  Nobody smooched like you.  I hope you are celebrating the most amazing Christmas ever and I hope you know how much I love you.

Anyway, it just so happens that she and another fabulous blogger host a wonderful blog called The Red Dress Club. The Red Dress Club is a blog that caters to women who love to write. I love to write and I want to be a better writer so of course I joined up!

There are buttons on my side-bar for these two blogs, if anyone is interested in checking them out. And you should be. Because they are totally awesome!

Each week, Red Dress does a meme challenge where everyone submits a piece of writing and checks out the pieces submitted by others. I think this sounds like fun, don’t you?

This week’s Meme was called “Pick a Number”. I’d love it if you read mine, A Closing Reverie. I would love Love LOVE it if you commented!