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Holiday Traditions Worth Remembering

MY HUSBAND TELLS THE STORY of the time his mom made rice pudding. No one could figure out why the pudding had seeds until Mom realized she was supposed to have cooked the rice.

Then there was the time Larry’s grandmother made a pumpkin pie, which was an impressive endeavor considering that advancing years had relieved her of most of her eyesight. Two days later, she had the chance to serve a slice to her son and daughter-in-law. Jan took one bite and said, “Mom, you left the wax paper on the pie crust.” Grandma said, “That explains a lot. That was the toughest crust I’ve ever eaten.”

And she should know. She’d already gnawed her way through half the pie.

The thing that makes holiday recipes so special is the fact that we only make them once or twice a year.

That’s also what makes them so scary.

I have a hard time remembering things I do every day, like picking up my kids from school or taking my Prozac. Remembering how to do something I only attempt once or twice a year is out of the question. Every time I have to renew my car registration, defrost a turkey, or dust off a beloved holiday recipe, I feel like I’m having to feel my way through the process for the very first time.

This is why my favorite holiday recipe goes like this: “Go to the freezer section. Open the door. Select the box with the best-looking photograph. Return home and slide the frozen pie into your own pie dish. Bake. Serve. Hide the box.”

Homemade rice pudding with seeds? My family should be so lucky. The last time I made homemade rice pudding, I was dishing it up when my spoon hit something bigger than a seed but smaller than a breadbox.

At least I’d found the pot holder.

What I’m saying is that, at least for me, executing once-a-year recipes is a challenge. The other challenge I face is trying to find the festive items I only need during the holidays. This year, my list of AWOL holiday props includes turkey-shaped Jell-O molds, the box of Christmas decorations, and the animated reindeer head that sings, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know . . .”

Sometimes I think there should be a dry run. Maybe in August or September. Then we could practice all our Thanksgiving recipes and hire Magnum P.I. to locate all the Christmas decorations. That way we’d be practiced up when the real holidays came around.

In fact, maybe we could send practice Christmas cards during summer vacation, just to make sure our mailing list was up to date. And we could serve July 4th barbecue on our very best china just so our dishes wouldn’t feel too unfamiliar come Thanksgiving. And that cornucopia centerpiece? Wouldn’t it look great holding Easter eggs or a nest of chocolate bunnies?

And when it comes to holiday attitudes like gratitude or worship, what would happen if we dusted those off as well and used them during the other ten months of the year? What if, at the end of this month, gratitude didn’t get packed away with the pilgrim-shaped salt shakers or the pinecone turkeys your kids crafted at school? What if worship of God and goodwill toward men didn’t get stored in the attic with the nativity set and the reindeer lawn art?

The bottom line is that some things are just meant to be enjoyed year ’round.

My husband says pudding with seeds probably isn’t one of them.