Something Else

I was flat out of groceries yesterday; that's the one disappointment of returning to college - an empty fridge. Me and four other friends planned to drive out to the best grocery store I've ever found (it's called Wegmen's and the hour drive to get there is worth every minute). It becomes a sort of mini-roadtrip; we put on music and forget about school and the lack of viable groceries nearby.

It had started snowing but I didn't think much of it until we had gotten about 15 minutes out. Turning a curve, the car was no longer in my control. Now, I've done the whole 360-degree fun turns in empty snow-covered parking lots, but I was always the passenger. As I felt the car sliding, I went blank and almost numb; the car whipped around too fast for me to think of anything but 'should I...' and then we were going backwards towards the metal barrier. That's when I pressed the brakes, yelling out 'No! Not my car!!' I'm a little ashamed that my primary concern was the car's safety rather than the people inside of it.

Fortunately for all of us no one else was on the road. A semi passes a minute later, which I didn't even think about until driving home how lucky we were. We were able to drive the car to the other side of the road, facing homeward. In my head I was picturing major damage to my car, killing all chances of me staying in Buffalo or going to med school....my future had flashed before my eyes, not my past. Is that bad? The flashlight showed me no damage; I was shocked. In my head the metal barrier had created a noisy scraping sound, puncturing my tires and turning the left side of the car into scrap. Sort of like when you try to park in a Vancouver underground. There was only a small scrape, so we headed back to Houghton, stopping at the tiny local grocery store, and I spent the rest of the night thinking about the 'almost-accident'.

Stuff like this is significant to me; for some reason I am intrigued by emergencies and I always want to know how I will respond. Thinking about my unexpectedly calm reaction to the car incident, I realize emergencies aren't in our control until after the event happens. Things happen too fast to ensure our top logical choice is acted upon. Something else kicks in. The obvious answer to me is God. I called my Dad that night, who spoke confidence to my ears with good advice and calm reassurance. He said the 360 was like a lesson, and not something to make me afraid to drive again, but also a reminder of God's protection. The 'something else' I can trust.

Tradition! where's a fiddler when you need one?

Christmas was different this year. I've been mourning the loss of tradition in my family. Growing up, Christmas seemed to last the whole month of December; the anticipation was built first with the decorating of the house, the choosing of the tree, the bible readings at dinner, and the constant checking of CKNW to see if school would be cancelled by the 1cm of wet snow. I had a weird habit of re-arranging the presents under the tree, not to try and guess what I would be getting, but just to enjoy the prettiness of it all. Ali and I would practice Christmas songs on the piano in time for the Beimer get-together, which never really mattered though because all tonal clarity is completely dropped in the midst of loud voices and Aunt Sophie's yelling out the following lyrics for those in the back. I'm not sure if general loudness counts for tradition, but I know Christmas wouldn't be the same without the noise our family seems to generate.

A big tradition that seemed to have been dropped was Olliebollen. Maybe it was lost in the health-kick of our generation....a big deep-fried oily ball of raisins and dough dipped in icing sugar is losing its place in our world. Time to bring it back. I remember skipping the whole day of school to stay home and try help my mom make the olliebollen for the school's Bazaar. I don't think mom actually needed my help, I think it was more that in the chaos of preparations she didn't realize I was still at home until it was too late. The night before she would mix up the dough with help from her friends and a bottle of wine. I would stay up listening to their conversations while they cut the apples and mixed the dough, rolling up their sleeves and bending over the big white bins to pound it all together. And then, waking up early the next morning to add the yeast and delicately cover those same bins with old dutch tablecloths, wrapping blankets around to keep the mixture warm. Random old ladies from the church that I was told to call 'Tante so-and-so' came over to help deep-fry, taste-test, and package up all the olliebollen. I spent the day running back and forth between the house and the garage, the cold air mixing with the warm scents of yeast and oil and coffee. For me, this marked the beginning of the Christmas season.

Some of these traditions do continue, and some are lost with the transition of our family not living together anymore. Our Oma was genuinely excited that we wanted to re-learn the art of making olliebollen this year; she said it was important for us to carry on the tradition because she wouldn't always be here. And her olliebollen is the best. It's important to recognize these things that are unique to our family, and keep the tradition alive despite the passing on of generations.

Looking back, I realize the things that made the holiday season special for me was the community I was a part of. I had a role, whether it was playing piano or making food or reading a verse. I haven't been home for the month of December, and so I've missed those opportunities. This year I struggled feeling like it was Christmas because of that. Maybe thats okay. There are better things to come, and new traditions to include, and old ones to revive. I still have a role in these traditions; I now have to take responsibility for them, to maintain them. And that's exciting too.