There won’t be any “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” at my house. In fact, I wouldn’t know a chestnut if one bit me on the--- toe. Before you say, “ how uncouth,” I want you to know that I do know nuts: the kind you eat, as well as some whom belong in a padded cell. I know pecans and walnuts. I like them in cake. However, I have my own traditions, as well as memories of some from when I was a girl.

For example, every Christmas, my sister and I would hang our ‘stockings’ on the windowsill near our tree. We didn’t have a fireplace.  Mind you these were not the pretty kind that we buy today, but knee socks that we had actually worn on our feet. But first our so-called stockings had to pass my mother’s “cleanliness is to next to Godliness” test, on the heels and toes before she allowed us to hang them up. Which often required our washing them a couple of times before they passed.

The next morning there would be an orange, a handful of hard nuts in the shell, and rainbow-striped candies, all tasting like licorice regardless of the color. There would also be a candy cane.  Now I don’t know about the sugar habits of people of other races, but peppermint in all of its forms, from canes to puffed balls were staples in the African-American childhood.  While eating food from garments worn on one’s feet was probably not one of your more sanitary traditions, it was a tradition nonetheless. 

Once again I will put up the twin wreaths on the twin doors that lead into my home. The red bows will once again adorn everything with their scarlet brilliance. This year there will only be one kitty to run and hide when she spots the glow of Christmas in my eye, as I had to put my oldest one to sleep this spring; one month short of his 17th birthday, nearly doubling the fabled nine lives of felines. I suspect that he is napping happily wherever it is that sweet, pet friends nap in the forever after. Sleep well my precious.  Thank you for almost seventeen years of unconditional love. 

The damask tablecloth is laundered, and with a whisk of the iron will be ready to grace my dinner table, the same as it did when I was a girl. A little faded now, much like many of my childhood memories, it still stands as a fond memory of good food and family.

Holidays with their symphonies of sights, sounds and smells that delight the senses are as much about friends and family as they are about food. After the devastation of the twisted sisters, Katrina and Rita, being together with loved ones and family has taken on a new importance.

A wise person once said, “serenity is not freedom from the storm, but finding peace within the storm. Whether you embrace old traditions, or create new ones, I wish you a happy holiday. May we all find peace this season, and always.