Dear Eddie:

When I was growing up, I was Big Sister to three little brothers. Mom would tell them to do something, and I would immediately repeat her words. She would get ticked. Dad would say, “Peat and Repeat.” Mom would say, “Peat is perfectly adequate.” I would attempt to shut up. Repeating was not my best trait.  Lately, however, I am mindful that many things do bear repeating. Sometimes, that means repeating words, but often it means repeating actions. In this holiday season, our ritual repeating grows and celebrates our memories. It is part of the glue that makes us a couple and all of us into a family.

We repeat as we prepare and celebrate holidays together. We are stubborn about celebrating Thanksgiving before beginning Christmas preparation. Our pumpkins mix with garland and lights in the first weeks of December. We hang the greens at church and at home, we set up the Advent wreath, and we follow the liturgy each week. Our grandchildren expect that we light candles as well as eat daily chocolates. We repeat the stories that surround the things and practices. The liturgy comes from Bartlesville FUMC from Christmas 1980. The kids acolyte at church and problem-solve that, even though the refillable candles don’t burn down, the first purple candle is opposite the third pink Joy candle. There is the proper way “we” do things.

You and I first, then our children, and now our grands see that our traditions are tied to memories and shift to include new members and new memories in the repeating. Little Bear and his family have resided in the quilted “house” on our kitchen door in the month of December for many many years. Little Bear has looked for Christmas over and over again. Grown kids afar may be told or ask where Little Bear looked for Christmas on any given day. This year, Little Bear went walk-about. He was missing when Aryn went to move him on December 22. We looked everywhere. I tried not to panic, or as you well know I can, “go Freaknik.” I made up a silly story in my head about what his parents were thinking. I pondered sewing a new bear.  Thankfully, Little Bear was found in the laundry room in the back of the house, collapsed face-down on top of the sunflower seed bucket. Go figure. We all speculated about what in the world happened.  I do know that Little Bear’s wanderlust will repeat in Christmas story-telling for another generation. We will laugh together in the repeating.

So, in the afterglow of Christmastide, I ask of you darling partner, please keep repeating that you love me, keep repeating and rehashing our trips, our holidays, our giggles of our many years. I love you.

Sylvia