Traditions

Traditions are like compulsions, done over and over, without much thought as to why. Growing up, we'd attend midnight mass on Christmas eve. Why? It was tradition. We set up a traditional tree, decorated with ornaments made by my Polish grandmother. We ate a traditional Polish dinner, pierogi, golabki, kielbasa, and cruscik. I haven't continued any of these traditions, for the most part, they nauseate me.

Today, I create my own traditions. On Sundays, we get together with our neighbors downstairs and eat the dinner I prepare, usually out of the Fresh and Honest cookbook from Henrietta's Table, where we got married. We sit, hopefully reverend Austin is there to bless the meal, mostly by remaining quiet, resting his neck. Tuck (Aka: Tuck Amuck), sits patiently, waiting for me to toss him a morsel, several actually.

Being with Allison, or Al, never Ali, and Gaylen feels like home to us. They've been here since we moved in but it's only been lately that we've gotten this close. Actually, Rachel has always been close to them, it's me that it takes a while to warm up to. Mostly because of my faltering filters, that fail to stop me from saying whatever comes to mind. Countless times throughout the year, I've left them speechless. My sense of humor is like quills on a porcupine, relaxed, they are soft, erect, they prick.

Allison and Gaylen have the type of relationship that rara and I have. Separate, they are completely different people. Gaylen has an undeniable edge, that fiery anger that makes her a menace on the road and a riot after a few drinks. Allison buys humane mouse traps that contain rather than kill. Picture Gaylen in the early morning hours letting our mouse free in a field, something I'd do for rara. I wonder if, to the mouse, the experience is like an alien abduction without the anal probe. But I digress.

Unlike oil and water, they emulsify, their differences gloss over, and they blend. It's hard to imagine one without the other, or that either exists as separate entities. Sunday dinner, and our lives are richer because of them, good friends truly are hard to find.

A few Sundays ago I attempted what seemed a simple crab and corn chowder recipe. I bought all the ingredients except the rock crab that Whole Foods doesn't carry. The fish counter suggested I try H-Mart in Burlington. So Reverend Austin and I made the trek. We could tell by both the business of the lot and the predominance of the shoppers going to and fro, that H-Mart was a different kind of store. The size of a typical Shaw's, inside it opened up into a unique shopping experience. Immediately to our left were several glass cases of jewelry. With a furrowed brow I turned to Reverend Austin just in time to see him shrug.

To the right, a food court of sorts lined the wall, only there was no pizza, burgers or, greasy tacos, there were only Japanese steak houses, and Chinese fresh fish joints. The produce section was a plethora of every imaginable fruit and vegetable. The back wall was sectioned for meats, the reds made up only a fraction, the fish stretched the entire length of the building. They had everything imaginable, and five varieties not yet discovered, including a tentacle section. At each station stood at least three workers, waiting to assist. I asked for crab and was directed to the corner where several varieties sat chilled in a cooler. Only one was shelled and canned. I grabbed what they had and made my way to the front.

Many things stood out as Reverend Austin and I, made our purchase. One was that along with food, parts of the building were sectioned into smaller stores where one could buy a TV, luggage, T-shirts, and the aforementioned, Jewelry. But what stood out the most was the fact that as I hurried through, I was stymied countless times by groups of people standing in the way. Typically, this annoys me, until I realized that it wasn't coincidence, running into these groups. More than shopping, most were there to chat, catch up with old friends, or make new ones. There was a sense of community amongst these people and I found myself feeling ashamed of pushing my way through, intruding on these people's Sunday Tradition, just so I could get back to my own.