Category Archives: traditions

Traditions

We arrived home with our arms full of packages and were met by a blinking light on the answering machine. I pressed the play button and heard Julie’s mother’s voice. “We won’t be able to drive to Chicago for Thanksgiving; your father is lost in Siberia.” The answering machine clicked off. That was the total message. We stared at each other in disbelief. What did we hear? 

We decided to host Julie’s entire Minnesota family for Thanksgiving, and they would be staying at my house for several days. Although I kept a neat house, it was still the home of a bachelor, and I didn’t have many of the amenities that a traditional house would have. In the weeks approaching Thanksgiving I had been on a buying spree. I purchased new bath and dish towels, juice glasses, pot holders, a creamer, other kitchenware, bottles of shower gel and shampoo, new rugs for the bathrooms, and even a new rug for the kitchen. 

I spent an absolute fortune on food and bought everything from fresh Ho-Ka turkeys to a giant shrimp platter. Since they would be staying for several days, I made sure that I had enough food for multiple breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. 

I polished my house from stem to stern. My linen closet was full, and my refrigerator was beyond its capacity. But it was the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, and the entire get-together had just been canceled by a one-sentence phone call. I was flooded with feelings. There was a relief knowing that I wouldn’t have to entertain a  large group for three days. There was concern over what I would do with all of the food that I bought. And, there was significant worry about Julie’s father, who was lost somewhere in Russia. He said that he was going to Siberia to sell leather coats, or was it computer hard drives this time? Bob always seemed to be going to very exotic places to sell things. He had worked in Army intelligence and then the CIA in his younger years, and we used to joke that he still was a covert spy. 

I was not yet aware of the understated way that Swedes communicate, and so I was utterly bewildered by Julies’ mom’s phone call, which appeared as casual as someone calling to say that they would be 15 minutes late. 

How could we know if Bob was safe? Could we trace his credit card activity? Should we call the State Department?  It was a national holiday, and it seemed like everything had shut down. We did what we could and prayed. Late Friday night, I received a fax from Julie’s dad saying that he was fine and had Thanksgiving dinner with the head of the Russian Orthodox Church. I imagine that all of this sounds slightly fantastic. Still, it is entirely accurate, and it was the start of over 25 years of hosting Julie’s family for Thanksgiving.

Her family would arrive on Wednesday night and leave on Saturday morning. Julie and I would share the overall workload. Still, I was in charge of the Thanksgiving meal, including the preparation of the turkey. Thanksgiving has always been a lot of work, but with repetition, it has become routine. Our menus are always the same. 

Thanksgiving Day 

Breakfast: 

Freshly baked cinnamon rolls, various other sweets, coffee, mandarin oranges, OJ, cereal. 

Dinner (2 PM): 

Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, freshly baked rolls, corn casserole, jello salad, green bean casserole, cranberries, gravy, various add-ons, and pie. Julie’s mom usually brings a pecan pie, which we supplement with pumpkin pies and at least one other dessert. (Yes, it is a gut buster meal).

Supper: 

Sandwiches, salads, sweets.

Friday

Breakfast

Ham and Egg Strata (sort of a bready souffle), OJ, coffee, hot rolls, sweetbreads/coffee cake, oranges.

Lunch

Homemade cream of turkey soup (one of my specialties)

Sandwich fixings and dessert 

Dinner

Stuffed pasta shells, tossed salad, garlic bread, dessert.

Saturday

French toast, OJ, coffee, various cereals, various sweetbreads/coffee cakes.

Julie’s sister Amy kindly brings some of the desserts and we make the remaining ones.

Our Thanksgiving weekend is filled with lively conversation, football games on TV, card and board games, long walks, and lots of eating. Every year I look forward to her family’s arrival, and I immediately take a nap as soon as they leave. Hosting Thanksgiving has become a family tradition, but this is changing.

This year my two nieces celebrated Thanksgiving with their spouse’s families. My nephew stayed in London, and his dad (my brother-in-law) traveled there to be with his son. My daughter celebrated with her Peace Corp peers in Africa, and Karl’s brother Kurt spent the day with other relatives. This reduction in force eliminated some of our activities, like the giant Bunko game, but many of our usual pastimes continued. 

Amy, my sister-in-law, told Julie that next year, she would have her own Thanksgiving in Minnesota as she wants to maximize the holiday time with her far-flung children. It is likely that Julie’s 90-year-old parents will celebrate with Amy, as will the rest of the family. However, we will stay in Illinois as it allows us to spend the most time with our kids who are in college and beyond. Next year our 25-year tradition will end.

I do have sadness over this, but I also wonder what our new smaller gathering will bring. I imagine that we will still have a giant, gut-busting dinner. My kids all look forward to their favorite dishes. However, we will undoubtedly pare back on the other meals. We may fill the weekend with new activities. Perhaps a family trip to the movies, or a ride to downtown Chicago. 

Few things in life remain constant. Some traditions last longer than others but most eventually evolve or end. It is essential to respect tradition, but it is unhealthy to be a slave to it. A change can offer new experiences and new growth. We will always have the memories from past events.

In life, it is important to be flexible. We will try to use some of our old Thanksgiving traditions as a foundation for our new holiday weekend. Next Thanksgiving will be a new adventure.

Addendum: Julie read this post and wanted me to correct it noting that the changes for next year’s Thanksgiving are not written in stone and that our tradition could be continuing. I add this addendum at her wish and for completeness.

Making sure that the turkey is 165 F.
One of two tables set for Thanksgiving.
Joining hands to give thanks.
I’m in charge of making the Thanksgiving dinner.
Food served buffet style.

In Life Some Things End…

In life some things continue, some things end.  This was what I thought as I packed Violet the van with food, water, and my clothes.  

I was getting ready for the Kuna Kousin Kampout at Van Buren State Park in South Haven, Michigan. I had ransacked our pantry for camper food: crackers, cheese, some odd pieces of bread. I complemented these supplies with items from the market: a pound of lean hamburger, a pint container of deli potato salad, and some bakery cookies to pass.  I packed light, bringing only a single change of clothes and my Dopp kit. The Kuna Kampout is only a two-day event.

Julie and the kids used to come to the Kampout, but their attendance has waned with the onset of competing demands for their time. I said goodbyes to my family and climbed into Violet’s front seat.  I knew that some of my cousins had been following my travels in Violet and so I made sure that she had a bath before I left. I wanted her to look her showroom best.

I don’t mind traveling alone as it is easy to get lost in my thoughts, but this internal entertainment lasts only so long, and by the time I approached South Haven I was eager to connect with others.  However, that was not to be the case.

I backed Violet into my site, making sure that her power port was in line-of-sight to the site’s electric hook-up. Setting up camp was as simple as plugging her into mains power.  My recent travels have been off-grid, and the possibility of unlimited free electricity for my microwave and heater seemed intoxicating. In reality, I left the heater in its Sterilite storage bin, and I used my microwave only to heat water for coffee.  I guess I am a creature of habit.

I didn’t see any familiar Kuna faces on my arrival, which surprised me.  My T-Mobile iPhone barely functions at Van Buren, but I was able to get enough signal to post, “At Van Buren and so far I’m the only Kuna here.” on Facebook. It was chilly, and I needed some internal warming, so I microwaved some water in which I added a heaping teaspoon of Nescafé Clasico instant coffee.   Porting some Etta James into Violet’s sound system, I sipped coffee and chilled. After about 20 minutes, I saw my cousin Ron and his daughter outside my door, and we exchanged greetings. Ron and his family were several rows over, which is why I didn’t initially see them. I walked to his site to acknowledge the rest of his crew and to admire his impressive set-up.  He has a large C class RV, and his site was carefully arranged with tarps and chairs. I oohed and aahed over his camper, and we sat and talked for a bit. I returned back to Violet, and within about 30 minutes of my return, his family wandered over to see her in person and reciprocated with their own oohs and ahhs.

Shortly after that, my niece appeared at Violet’s door as she saw my Facebook post. Her campsite was up the road, but far enough away that I  had initially missed her. After showing her Violet, I moseyed over to her site to enjoy her campfire and conversation.

So many of our regular campers were absent this year.  My sister and her husband canceled due to illness. My other sister, her daughter’s family, and my sister-in-law stayed at a local hotel.  Other regulars were absent due to obligations, and even the main organizer of the event, my cousin Ken was only present on Saturday, as he and his wife also stayed at a hotel this year.

This was the 20th year of the Kuna Kampout, one of several yearly events designed to keep the cousins connected.  However, with the absence of several key players, it felt different. As the afternoon wore on, it started to rain, a constant, steady rain. In the past, several of the Kampout’s participants would bring canopy tents which were latched together to provide an ample sheltered space to gather.  Unfortunately, those campers did not attend this year. Instead, we became a canvas of umbrellas and rain ponchos. Hardly ideal, but good enough.

Our dinner is usually a community event, but this year, we didn’t have the large grilling surface that we typically use.  My nephew, Tommy, offered up his small tailgate style propane grill, and with careful planning, we all had enough space to cook our food.  Part of the Kampout tradition is to bring a dish to pass. I gave away three of the 4 hamburgers that I made, as I munched on my sister-in-law’s gluten-free macaroni salad, and my niece’s cut-up fruit.  Such exchanges are the norm, and our combined efforts turn our personal meal plans into an eclectic feast. Eventually, the rain stopped, and we sat, ate, and talked into the night.

Yes, this campout was different from past ones. Some key players didn’t attend, and others stayed at hotels as it has become too difficult for them to tent camp. Initially, I had some sadness about this change, but I have since reconsidered.

The lower attendance allowed me to chat with some relatives who I rarely have contact with.  Despite the smaller crowd, the spirit of the campout was the same, as was the level of genuine friendliness and enthusiasm.  We managed with a small grill, our umbrellas, and a lot of real excitement.

It would have been easy to focus on the negatives of this year’s campout. However, when all was said and done, it was our attitudes that determined the tone of this experience. The campout was just as much fun as it had been in previous years. Those of us who were there wanted to be there; we wanted to connect with each other.  This year’s Kuna Kampout was a success and a delightful experience.

In life some things continue, some things end, and still, others evolve.  Was this year 20 of the Kuna Kampout or was it the first year of the Kuna Kampout 2.0?  Here is to 20 more years of burnt hamburgers, late night hikes, friendly smiles, and good conversation!

Looking out of Violet’s side door.
Wet campers.
Making coffee in the microwave.
My campsite.
Rain and umbrellas.
Eventually the rain stopped and we were able to have a campfire.