There was no time of the year I looked forward to
more than the period known to me as “The
Holidays” while I was growing up. The Holidays
were from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day.
We celebrated The Holidays with my cousins,
taking turns being the host family. One of my favor ite memories
involved getting up early and tumbling into our Buick Estate
Wagon. My siblings and I fought over the passenger side window
seat. We all wanted to get the best view for the three-hour trip. I
remember the fog-shrouded Golden Gate Bridge and then holding
my breath through the rainbow tunnel. My lungs felt like they
were burning as I struggled to hold my breath through what I
thought was the world’s longest tunnel. (Years later, I taught this
tradition to my children.)
We arrived at my aunt’s house hungry, fidgety, and eager to eat
and play. Our large meal was a mixture of traditional New
England favorites and regional ethnic dishes. After stuffing
ourselves, we lay down on the living room floor to rest, feeling
like Winnie the Pooh felt after a large meal. Later we headed up
the hill behind my aunt’s home and dashed into the woods. We
climbed a dusty cow trail and struggled up the oak-lined foothill.
Then down we slid in order to do it all over again. I am sure my
mother hated this part of our adventure, but she never stopped us.
Whenever I think about The Holidays, this is the first memory that
comes to mind.
My childhood was rich in family traditions. Even when money
was tight, we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas with
panache. I don’t remember particular gifts or decorations, but I do
remember the family fellowship and fantastic food.
– Tina Rice
Senior Product Reviewer and Correspondent