Holiday Traditions...

Traditions.

She was thinking about traditions. 

Which made sense as she was laying out the Christmas Eve midnight snack tray that was her tradition. 

But how did things become tradition? And what about them made it tradition? For instance the snack tray she had in front of her. It wasn't this elaborate that first year. It was some crackers and cheese that were left over from an office Christmas party luncheon she had worked as a cater waiter a few days earlier. 

Traditions shifted with time and circumstance. But people didn't notice the changes, they only noticed the broad strokes. The big things that made them think it was always the same. Holidays, of course, helped. There are things we do every year on those days. But even then it all shifted around. Who was there to celebrate? Some years it was a lot of family, some years it was only a few. 

The first few years coming home for Christmas break from school. She and all of her high school friends would get together for a celebration. Then after college fewer and fewer of them came home every year. Holidays were split with the families of their new partners. Or they just stayed in the city where they worked. It was too much of a hassle to pack up everything and come home, and if they did come home it was only for a few days and there wasn't time for the whole gang to get together again. What had seemed like a tradition was over.

She had stopped going back the year her father died. Within a few months her mother had sold the house and moved to Boca Raton where her brother and his wife and their four kids lived. Her mother asked her if she was coming home for the holidays. Which had made her stop and wonder, what home? Boca Raton wasn't her home. Her family was there, but did that make it home? She didn't think so. She had begged off. Too much catering work with the holiday and she had an audition on the 26th she really didn't want to miss so not that year. Maybe next year?

But next year didn't happen either. And then she knew it never would. At least not for Christmas. 

She had her own tradition starting. 

She had spent a lot of time on this year's snack tray. She had found some imported olives that were just the right blend of fruity and salty. The cheese she had selected she had been served at the Oscar's after party. She had chased down one of the waitstaff to ask what it was and then been escorted back to the kitchen to talk to the cheesemonger, yes, they actually had a cheesemonger, about what she had been served and what other types of cheese she might like as well. She had pulled out her phone and taken detailed notes knowing even at the time that this cheese would be on her Christmas Eve tray. The crackers were artisanal crackers from a local farm. 

"What makes something artisanal?" Her brother had asked over the phone when he received his Christmas gift of cheese, crackers and cookies. "The price!" She heard her mother shouting in the background. She had laughed. Because it was almost true. Nothing marked as artisanal was cheap. 

But the Christmas Eve snack tray was worth it. 

"You know you don't have to go to so much trouble."

She turned around with a smile already on her face. "Merry Christmas! So good to see you!" 

He opened his arms and she fell into his strong embrace. He gave the best hugs in the world. The kind where you feel all of the stress just lift from your body. The kind where the only words that seem to fill your mind are safe and loved. She pressed her face against the soft velvet of his coat and breathed in the warm woodsy smell of him. 

"And I didn't go to a lot of trouble."

He smiled at her and said, "Careful. You know I can always tell if you're lying."

"I didn't. It's only trouble if you resent doing it. If you are giving out of the joy of giving then it cannot be trouble. A wise man once told me that." She winked. 

He laughed, "Oh! She listens!"

"She does. Now, sit, have a snack. Tell me about your year."

And the tradition continued. 

After he left she thought about that first night. The one with the leftover cheese and crackers. How it had all started. 

She had been feeling sorry for herself, understandable really. Firsts are hard. And her first Christmas without her father had hurt more than she had expected. Maybe she had made a mistake by not going to Boca. But the thought of being in her brother's house, with his wife, and their kids, and his in-laws and the sunshine and warm weather, it had all seemed so awful. Unbearable. But now she thought maybe it would have been fine. Who cares if the weather was all wrong, and the wrong people were there, and her father wasn't? 

But it was too late now. Maybe next year. 

She looked out of the living room window and watched the snow falling. At least the weather here was right. She was staying at a friend's place. Housesitting for them while they went skiing in Vermont. Last minute trip and they couldn't find a pet sitter on short notice. She had volunteered to stay and watch the dogs and the house so they could go. It was going to be their daughters first time skiing. 

The thump from the fireplace startled her enough to make her scream. 

Then wonder where the fireplace had come from. 

Her friends didn't have a fireplace.

But there was clearly a fireplace in the middle of the living room now. 

The bag on the floor must have been what made the thump. She knew none of what she was seeing made any sense and was about to pinch herself to wake up when down Saint Nicholas came with a bound. 

"What the hell?"

Now it was his turn to give a little startle scream. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Who am I? Who are you? And what is all of that!" She gestured toward the fireplace as if there could be some sort of logical explanation.

"You know full well who I am. But this is Lexy Salazar's house and you are not Lexy Salazar or either of her parents. You are Amanda Bouldalier. And you are in the wrong house."

She just stared at him then. "Santa?"

"Of course, who else would I be?" And then he put a hand up to his ear. "Ah, well, there you go. Lexy is in Vermont skiing. Crossed wires. Late notice. Happens sometimes. Just not usually with witnesses."

"Santa?"

"Yes, dear, we've covered that. I'm Santa."

"I don't have any milk and cookies." 

"What?"

"I don't have any milk and cookies. You're Santa, there is supposed to be a snack. It's tradition right?"

"Well if you were expecting me, yes, that is the tradition."

"Would you like some cheese and crackers? I have some cheese and crackers. And ginger ale, if you'd like something to drink."

"Well, thank you, Amanda. That would be very nice."

"I mean, if you have time. I know you're really busy tonight."

"I can make the time."

And he did. And she learned over the years that on Christmas Eve he really could make time. It didn't work the same around him as it did everyone else. It stopped. It slowed. It warped and twisted. He needed more time and so he made it. And now every year on Christmas Eve he made time for her as well. 

But that first year, with the leftover cheese and crackers, that was the year that started it all. He had asked how she was doing. And then really listened. He hugged her while she cried. She just missed her father so much. He told her stories about what her dad had been like as a child. What gifts he'd asked for, the thank you notes he sent. It was as good of a first Christmas without him as she could have imagined. 

The next year she had gotten some snacks, just in case, and had waited up to see if he would come back. He did. That was the year he told her about the elves. How they had started the whole toy business in the first place. Over the years he told her a lot of stories. The one about Mrs. Claus and the year she had covered his route because he had a touch of the flu. He told her about the reindeer and what actually made them fly. He told her about the North Pole. What it was like to live there. What he did in the off season. And then just stories about the year before. What he and Mrs. Claus had done. What the elves were working on now. What the weather was like in Australia. 

They met every Christmas Eve. The cheese and crackers had gotten more expensive. The house had changed a few times. But she never missed a Christmas Eve visit from Saint Nick. It was her tradition. 

Their tradition.