One thing
I`ve come to appreciate alot since swearing in as a PCV is how culture
expresses itself through traditions. Ecuador is a small country (about the size
of Colorado), but it is incredibly diverse – ecologically, geographically, ethnically
, musically, gastronomically, etc. – pretty much in every way. It`s been fascinating to learn about how traditions derive from this
diversity. Not surprisingly, the food and music have been my favorite parts. But
before I write about the most important tradition for me at this time of year,
I`d like to mention a tradition into which I`ve unexpectedly but gratefully
stumbled since becoming a volunteer.
For at least two Fridays each month I make it
to Quito by five o`clock in the afternoon. I usually have a cheap bottle of
wine in my backpack and my guitar capo and pick in my pocket. And I go to the
apartment of our three Peace Corps Volunteer Leaders (PCVLs: volunteers who`ve
extended their service for a third year to support us volunteers in the field).
Together we celebrate a tradition that`s been around for a long time: shabbat
dinner.
One of our PCVLs is Jewish, and after we
prepare the food and set up the table, he recites the traditional prayers –
over the candles, wine, and bread – as he did with his family growing up in
Detroit. We enjoy great food, great company, and after the meal we usually
break out instruments and play music. Shabbat dinner is a wonderful tradtion
that I get to share with my PCV family, and it`s something for which I`m so grateful.
I`ve been enjoying another tradition recently.
It`s one I grew up with, and while part of me is possessive and doesn`t want to
share it, a larger part of me would love for other families to enjoy it, too.
Advent
always came with a package of activities for our family: dipping beeswax
candles for the advent wreathe (singing ¨wassail, wassail!¨ as we would march
around the table, cooling the hot wax), praying special advent prayers, opening
windows in the advent calendars, going to Freeport to pick out a Christmas tree
to be decorated on Christmas eve, as well as playing CDs of Christmas music –
Bing Crosby and, more recently, Sufjan Stevens (but Bing is still king!). Every Sunday evening, after lighting a new advent candle to mark
another week closer to Christmas, we would all gather around the fireplace. As
the six of us would vie for our favorite spots on the couch, Mom would bring
out the the clementines, nuts, and hot apple cider as Dad would settle in his
chair with Charles Dickens` A Christmas
Carol. After the seating arrangements were decided, Dad would begin to read,
and we would gaze into the fire and listen.
A Christmas Carol is conveniently divided into five chapters.
That means a chapter for each Sunday of advent and a chapter for Christmas eve
– so it works out perfectly. As you probably know, it is the story of Ebenezer
Scrooge, an old miser in London during Dickens` time who towards the beginning
of the book apoplectically declares, ¨Out upon merry Christmas!.. If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with `Merry
Christmas` on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with
a stake of holly through his heart. He should!¨ Yes, this is the man of ¨Bah,
humbug.¨ But it`s the story of his path to redemption and it all works out by
the end. And as Scrooge changes himself, we compassionately root for him along
the way and seek to better ourselves, too – well, as children, subconsciously at
least.
All cosey
and warm by the fireside, my brothers and sisters and I would listen dreamily
as Dad, with his western Pennsylvania voice, cast Charles Dickens` words into
our imaginations. In a way, it was fantasy in the truest sense of the word –
that is, fantasy coming from phantasia,
which comes from phaos, which means ¨light.¨
And this is what advent is about, right? Every year, as a
family, as we prepared in the darkness of winter to welcome again the Light of
the World, our imaginations were ablaze with Dickens` story, longing for the
final chapter on Christmas eve when we could hear and join in Tiny Tim`s
refrain, ¨God bless us, every one, ¨ and feel it to our core.
And we`ve done this every year. We grew up and
moved away, but we always gather Christmas eve and listen to the final chapter
of the story. And it`s still the same. At some point the spiced apple cider
turned into spiked apple cider, but I think that`s the only change. Well,
truthfully, we no longer fight for spots on the couch (we`re more cordial than
we were), and nobody gets sent to their rooms for being a wise ass.
I don`t miss this tradition. Why? Because I
still do it. I have A Christmas Carol
with me here in Ecuador, and every Sunday I light another candle on my wreathe
and read another chapter of the story. In my isolation as a Peace Corps volunteer,
this tradition connects me to my family. We all know that smells, songs,
places, etc. can trigger certain memories. Well, having heard A Christmas Carol each advent for the
past twenty-six years, in every word I am with Mom, Dad, Meg, Jack, Charlie,
Pete and Beth.
And this is why traditions can be beautiful.
This tradition is especially important for me
this year. Not only am I waiting the for the Light on Christmas, but I`m
waiting for my visit home, when I can be with my family and hear my father read
from this great carol, ¨God bless us, every one.¨
