High-fiving the Monkey Puppet- tradition in my home

Sock monkeys

I was wondering what to write about and mentioned to my friend Maya that we were coloring three dozen eggs. That is actually one or two dozen less eggs than usual. She said that that sounded like a hot topic, and I guess tradition always is.

It always seems to me that tradition is habit on steriods. It gives comfort, and helps to stabilize events athat are unsettling by themselves. Little children are expert at building ceremony around bedtime, and some of these are intractable. You have to brush your teeth, use the potty, read the story, and kiss the stuffed animals not only in general but in a particular order and way. Try shaving a few minutes off the routine, and you find out the relevance immediately- it just isn’t bedtime until you’ve high-fived the monkey puppet.

And that is the way it goes for the traditions formed around holidays- they may be formed easily- almost whimsically- but they aren’t so easily left by the wayside. Get a live christmas tree and plant it afterward one mild winter, and the next year you are expected to get a pick and chip through 12 inches of permafrost so you can do the same thing.

The layering of pattern over randomness. How funny that it brings such comfort to most of us. Some of my family’s traditions are apple picking at an orchard that feels like it is at the top of the world, summer day trips to unusual places,* and hot chocolate after choosing and setting up the Christmas tree. What are yours?

Purgatory Chasm

*The annual trip to Purgatory Chasm became one of those accidental traditions. Purgatory Chasm, located in Sutton, MA, looks like a jumble of huge rocks tossed into a slash in the earth. The first year, I took the kids and we hiked through from one end to the other and back. It was a long hike and they were tired about halfway through, which made me think on the way back that the name Purgatory had been chosen appropriately.

The next year, I hoped to add a little spice to the mix. Already a colorful place, with landmarks like “Lover’s Leap” and “Devil’s Coffin,” it didn’t take too much imagination to do this with a group of kids ranging in ages from 6-9.  As we were walking by a natural cavern, I noticed something roundish in shape shining a little lighter in the gloom- it was probably the bottom of a soda can reflecting the small amount of natural light in there. “Ssshhhh, kids, come here and look, ” I whispered. “That’s where One-Eyed Jack’s treasure is buried.”

The Story of One-Eyed Jack

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