Holiday traditions

Change over time

Theres a reason we travel so many miles during the holiday season. Its
because family is important and we cherish the traditions we share year
after year. Many of us take time during the holiday season to reflect on our
traditions how some may have changed while others stay the same. We
take time to be thankful for our loved ones, whether they are near or far.
As the years go on, dynamics change. Family members pass away and
new ones are born and now suddenly a new home is the center of
holiday celebrations. We adjust to new roles as the years move along.
The Lillie Suburban staff took some time reflecting on changing
holiday traditions family members gone and new, a sense
of home, growing up and taking on new roles.

Lutefisk memories: They smell so sweet!

My mothers side of the
family had a Swedish heritage,
so every Christmas Eve while
growing up, lutefisk was
served for supper. Through the
1950s, 60s and into the 70s,
this meal became a holiday
tradition for me, and I loved it.
I began associating lutefisk
with the festive evening, which
was a much-anticipated, joyous
time. Lutefisk meant good food,
warmth, fun, family get-togethers
and celebrations.
Ill admit the first few times I

ate lutefisk, I did not care for it.

But my cousins and I dared each
other to taste it, and soon I tried
it enough times that I began liking
it. Maybe it was the melted butter
or the creamy white sauce served
over the gelatinous-textured white
fish that made it more palatable.
There was a distinct odor when
the fish was cooking and the
scent would linger for hours, even
days. To me, this good smell was
associated with happy memories.
However, as my cousins and I
grew up, and our grandparents

passed away, the family dynamics

changed. Through the years, my
cousins and sisters married, had
children and moved away from our
hometown of Barrett, Minnesota.
Soon, only I ate lutefisk with my
mom and step-dad for lunch on
Christmas Eve. When my sisters
and families joined us for dinner
that special evening, we dined on
meatballs, ham and potatoes and
spared the little kids the scent and
texture of the lutefisk.
Now my parents have passed
away, so I no longer have the

once-a-year lutefisk meal with my

family.
In recent years I enjoyed the
lutefisk supper at Mount
Olivet Lutheran Church in
Minneapolis. At least this
event gives me my fix for the
season.
However, my cat, Muffie,
likes fish, so maybe this
year...
Vonny Rohloff

All was merry & bright, despite slower pace

Over the years my Christmas
celebrations have changed several
times.
For many years, I was going
to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to
celebrate the holidays with my
mother, whose birthday was Dec.
22. Then I would return just in
time to celebrate Christmas with my
family as well.
One December, I was recovering
from knee surgery and my son
drove me through a snowstorm
to the airport. He dropped me
off, and a man with a wheelchair
met me and wheeled me through
security and down some back halls,
dropping me off close to my gate.
But my flight was delayed several
hours at least partly due to
mechanical problems and I
felt very vulnerable since
I was totally dependent
on my walker after
knee surgery. I had
expected to walk right
away after surgery
to repair my

Pamela OMeara and her late mother, Ruth Henkin, posed for a holiday
selfie.

torn meniscus, but there were

complications and the doctor said
no weight-bearing for what turned
out to be about six weeks.
It would have been easier to stay
home, but I couldnt disappoint
my mother, then in her late 80s,
since I never knew how many
Christmases she had left.
My
s i s t e r,
Sue, who had
flown in from

southern California, picked me up

at the airport, and we stayed in the
guest room at the senior housing
complex where my mother lived. It
was a relief to get settled in.
Then the chuckles began as
I struggled up and down the
long halls with my walker, while
my mother expertly maneuvered
around with her walker.
My sister then tried to push one
of us in a wheelchair to pick up

the pace; we were quite a sight.

We just had to laugh at ourselves,
especially when my elderly mother
was moving faster than I was. But
we soldiered on.
We met up with my sister Nancy,
who lives in Michigan, and nieces
and nephew to mark my mothers
birthday and Christmas.
With all the Christmas
decorations at my sisters and
mothers places and special holiday
foods, it was a festive few days. We
ended up having a great visit in
spite of our handicaps, which just
made the trip more memorable.
While I made many more trips
to Grand Rapids for my mothers
birthday and early Christmas (she
lived to 94 and a half), this trip,
with all its lighthearted moments,
really stands out.
After her death, I thought
Christmas week would never be
the same. I still miss her, but Im
now making new memories with
my granddaughters, marveling at
their excitement about the holiday
season, and enjoying all the
laughter and good times we share
together.
Pamela OMeara

The holiday tree is a family tree

I have always enjoyed
decorating my home with fresh
evergreens in the winter. Holly,
eucalyptus and mistletoe are
essential, but nothing is as deeply
rooted in my nostalgia as the fir
tree.
When I was a child, my family
would go together to the tree
farm to pick out a holiday tree. I
remember how Dad meticulously
c h e c ke d e a c h c a n d i d a t e. H e
always was careful to select the
fullest tree with the strongest
branches and greenest needles.
Over the years, the family

I grew up with has evolved and

grown. This year in particular
has brought many changes to my
life including my engagement to
Mackenzie and the purchase of
our first home. As a reflection of
those changes, two of my fiancs
siblings helped us pick out the
first holiday tree for our new
house.
The Sunday following
Thanksgiving, Mackenzies
yo u n g e r b ro t h e r, D rew, wa s
visiting from Texas, and their
younger sister, Sam, had the
day off from work, so we

Mackenzie, Drew and Sam had to walk fast to keep up with Harvey the
Weimaraner, who was pretending to be a reindeer as he pulled their
freshly cut tree back to the barn.

spontaneously decided to visit a

tree farm.
On the drive there, Sam and
Drew teased each other in the
backseat of our Ford pickup as
H a r v e y, S a m s We i m a r a n e r,
manically clambered from
window to window.
L i ke a ny c l o s e f a m i l y, t h e
Fosters have their own dialogue
rich with inside jokes, the threads
of half finished conversations and
references to memories that have
been shared so many times that
theyve grown larger than life.
Although there was a brisk chill
in the air when we arrived at the
farm, there was not a snowflake
in sight. Tires and boots alike
slipped and sank in mud. I cant
remember ever looking for a tree
so early in the season.
There were many suggested
trees, and although I must have
acquired my dads high standards
for a holiday tree, we eventually
found a balsam fir we all agreed
on. Unfortunately, it was located
in the furthest field from the
parking lot and barn.
I am proud to be from a family
that is creative artistically, but
I admire the Fosters for their
practical ingenuity, even though
it has also led to the notorious
injuries featured in most of the
stories the siblings tell.

I am
happy to
report that
no injuries
occurred while
we sawed down
o u r t re e, a n d i n
this case the Fosters
inventiveness had only
positive results.
Drew laced Harveys
leash around the
trunk of the tree,
and Harvey eagerly
pulled it on a tarp
across the field.
Mackenzie and Drew
flanked the tree, each
holding a side of the tarp
in place, and Sam led the party, so
Harvey would follow.
Together we trooped all the way
back to the barn where employees
prepared the tree for the journey
home.
For me, picking out the holiday
tree has always been a family
tradition. It feels appropriate that
this year, which has included
s o m u c h c h a n g e, wo u l d s e e
this tradition change, too. I am
grateful to have spent the time
with my new family building
memories and making traditions
of our own.
Aundrea Kinney

Changing little by little

Holiday traditions are a big deal
in my family. Dont ask me why,
but its been that way for as long
as I can remember.
For years our traditions were
the same, but time has a way of
changing things.
My mom is the youngest of five
siblings, so I have a lot of cousins
on her side, but surprisingly there
are only three girl cousins. For
many years Mom would take her
two nieces and me shopping on
Black Friday, matching outfits
and all.
The mall we shopped at hasnt
changed in six years, and the
prospect of spending another
Black Friday there seemed a
little ho-hum, and none of us are
crazy enough to deal with Mall of

America on the busiest shopping

day of the year. So this year we
decided to switch things up.
We opted for dressing up and
going to the Guthrie Theater to
see A Christmas Carol. Besides
a change of activities, we had a
newcomer in our group. A cousin
of mine is engaged and we invited
his fianc to join us since she will
officially be a part of the family
next year.
Black Friday isnt the only
tradition that is growing in
numbers. My three uncles all
have girlfriends or fiancs. This
means our ladies-only Christmas
cookie baking crew has grown
as well. This year there were so
many extra people that we had
to break out other recipes beyond

our usual list of Scandinavian

specialties. Now, I dont think
anyone is going to complain about
extra cookies, but at some point I
think we will outgrow the kitchen
we bake in.
One of the biggest changes with
our traditions this year was the
Swedish meatball rolling. See, this
is generally a guys-only event.
The only female allowed in the
kitchen is my mom, who oversees
the oven.
Problem is, Mom had ankle
surgery four days before meatball
rolling. Her surgeon said no
weight bearing on that leg for
three months. That meant no
oven duty.
So it was up to someone else
this year ... me. Now the goal is

to cook the meatballs without

fully cooking them. This means
precision oven timing and
management. If I messed this up,
I would never hear the end of
it. Luckily, things seemed to go
smoothly.
The thing is, even though our
holiday traditions are evolving,
the reason we do them is
still the same. Its about
family. As long as that
stays at the heart of
everything, who cares
h ow t h e t ra d i t i o n s
change?
Hannah
Burlingame

Oh baby, here come the new traditions

Im not saying
my family lacks for
holiday traditions,
i t s j u s t t h a t we
d o n t re a l l y h ave
a ny, a t l e a s t n o t
anymore.
My mother died of
colon cancer nearly
two decades ago, just as
my older siblings were on
the cusp of adulthood and
I was a couple of years
away from heading off to
college.
Her death accelerated
the scattering of my
i m m e d i a t e f a m i l y. M y
older sister already
attended the University of
Montana in Missoula and
my older brother joined
her shortly thereafter.
My fathers bonds with
his adopted home of
Minnesota were broken,
and he relocated, back to
Arizona a few years later,
where wed lived before.
My younger brother ended
up in Denver.
Traditions, though?
We did have a few. When
it came to Christmas,
we attended the 5 p.m.
Christmas Eve Mass at St.

Bartholomews Catholic
Church, then returned
home where we would
open a single gift; choose
it wisely.
After that, I was always
too giddy to sleep very
well, awaiting the big show
on Christmas morning, so
in my tween years when
Id wake too early Id calm
my nerves with a bath
while listening to the radio
call that a tradition.
Christmas morning,
when that appointed hour
of 8 a.m. would come,
after wed dragged my
older siblings out of bed,
it was a free-for-all. After,
we ate, usually an IGA
ham, shipped in on ice
by an aunt or uncle, from
Helena, Montana.
That predictability was
gone as my family worked
out its new circumstances
now Christmas
followed us around. From
Minnesota to Missoula to
Tucson and then Payson,
Arizona, we celebrated
where the most of us were.
Soon, I met my
destined-to-be wife, and
was shoehorned into her

familys traditions, every

other year, as she was
shoehorned into mine.
A n d n ow, m o re. M y
wife gave birth to a baby
girl this past summer,
and come Dec. 25, our
4 - m o n t h - o l d d a u g h t e r,
our one and only, will
celebrate her first
Christmas.
Of course, well be in a
brand new place for the
celebration Louisville,
Kentucky! at my sisters
new home. My daughter
will meet her cousin, my
sisters 2-year-old son, and
a whole bunch of other
brand-new people, the rest
of her family, too.
My wife and I will go
hurtling into this new
unknown along with her.
B a by M u n z e n r i d e r, o r
Lil BB, as her nickname
goes, wont experience the
anxiety of her first flight
q u i t e l i ke h e r p a re n t s
already do, but all three
of us will surely enjoy the
process of moving towards
t h e c h a n c e o f h o l i d ay
courtesy of Amelia Clabots
traditions, once more.
So far so good Baby and Mike Munzenrider test
Mike Munzenrider

tradition at Thanksgiving 2016.

Packages & rituals tossed about

Theres something comforting
about rituals, particularly during
the holiday season when things
can often seem chaotic and
overwhelming.
At my house, some of the
must-do traditions are taking
time to bake seasonal favorites
especially eggnog bread, which is
gobbled down still warm from the
oven and crowding onto the
sofa to watch the black-and-white
1951 movie A Christmas Carol,
and decorating an end table with
little wooden angel figurines,
some dating back to my husbands
Arkansas grandmother.
They all provide a reassuring
sense of continuity with
Christmases past.
Even after our twin sons went
off to college in another state, the
patterns of Christmas Eve and
Christmas Day had a degree of
predictability. The boys always
made it home before Christmas
Eve and knew the house would be
filled with the familiar aromas of
old family recipes Nana Marys
rosemary roasted turkey and greataunt Claras stuffing.

Pausing a moment as he delivers an armload of holiday packages is

Mary Lee Hagerts son Kevin, who is a seasonal UPS driver helper this
December.

For most of their lives weve

celebrated Dec. 24 and 25 in
the same way. On Christmas
Eve, a seafood supper, opening
a single present, singing carols
and attending a candlelit church
service.

But this year, those traditions

are reluctantly getting tossed out.
Christopher will be taking a break
from graduate school and traveling
over 1,000 miles to get back to
Minnesota on Christmas Eve.
Kevin, meanwhile, is a UPS

driver helper this holiday season

before his college classes resume
in January. His Christmas Eve
will be spent traveling hither
and yon delivering mountains of
packages containing last-minute
gifts of all sizes and shapes from
dawn to well after dusk. We
dont expect him to make it home
before the clock strikes 11 p.m.
But when we hear the
doorknob turn as he enters the
house, we will be there to greet
him with a lively rendition
of Jingle Bells, his favorite
childhood holiday song.
His dad will offer him a glass
of eggnog; I will dish up seafood
leftovers; Chris will turn on
t h e A L ove l y C h r i s t m a s
album, and the celebration
will begin, just a little
d i f f e re n t t h a n a ny
other year, but surely
no less treasured.
Mary Lee Hagert

Doorknob stockings, moving and being together

If traditions require consistency, Im not sure I
have too many as far as holidays go. Its difficult
to conjure up the traditions that have lasted
Christmas after Christmas. Rituals that appear
undeviating from calendars might better belong
to folks whove grown up in the same house, city,
state, country, or even family.
For me, the formula for home has been
constructed and deconstructed a dozen
times, always rebuilt a little differently, and,
consequently, so have holiday celebrations.
My earliest memories of Christmas are magical
ones where my parents would barricade my
brothers and me from the Christmas tree and
presents in the living room. My brothers, both
older, would hoist me into the air my eyes
reaching just barely above a vertical mattress
placed strategically in the hallway so I could
catch a glimpse of what was in store and relay the
details.
But before trying to breach the obstacles my
parents set up, we would always wake up to a
letter from Santa Claus and a stocking on our
bedroom doorknobs.
But things change. Our family of five moved
several times, jumping between New Jersey,
Taiwan, Florida and Japan, and from house to
house and city to city in each of those places.
House layouts changed and presents changed
depending on where we lived, what jobs my
parents had and whether my grandparents would

ship us a large box or a small box.

As I grew up, the main consistency was that
our close-knit family was always together on
every Christmas morning. But even that changed.
After I turned 14, my dad passed away
unexpectedly, which eventually led to another
move and culture shock while trying to assimilate
into an American high school for the first time.
The Christmases that followed were lacking
magic.
And when several years passed, my mom got
remarried to a man who had two young kids.
The culture of my home shook as the ways of our
little house were altered. I was 17, preparing for
yet another move, to a college in Boston.
Years later, I got married and now I find myself
semi-uncomfortably gift-giving, most years, on
Christmas Eve.
This winter, however, my wife and I are flying
down to Florida to join my mom, step-father,
siblings, step-siblings and a brand new nephew
for Christmas. Its been a very long time since
weve all been together in general, let alone at
Christmas.
Perhaps a stocking will appear on my
doorknob, but if it doesnt, thats OK, too.
Besides, the definition of tradition is not actually
what occurs year after year, but its the customs
and beliefs that are passed down from generation
to generation.
A yearning for togetherness is what has been

Jesse, Matt and Tim Poole at an early 90s

Christmas.

passed to me. Together has been edited over

the years, but the idea is still vibrant: that being
with loved ones is our tradition, whether its the
in-laws, friends or immediate family.
Jesse Poole

Changing roles, changing traditions

Perhaps one of the hardest
things about growing up is
losing your belief in Santa
Claus. I remember the year
Santa was no longer real to me.
It was the same year the movie
Polar Express was in theaters.
My mom knew I was beginning
to waver, but she asked, Does
[the movie] make you question it?
I knew it was a sign to her that
I was growing up, which is why I
never really told her the truth that
I no longer had faith in Santa. I
didnt want to make her sad.
What I didnt realize was the fun
it took away for my mom when I
no longer believed in Santa. No
longer did we bake cookies or leave
out milk for Santa. We no longer
needed to establish limits for when
it would be too early to get up in
the morning to open presents.
This holiday season in particular
has made me reflect on my
childhood because this will be the
last year my cousins and I are the
youngest ones in our extended
family.
Two of my cousins are pregnant
and in the next few weeks and
months will be giving birth to
our grandparents first greatgrandchildren. My generation is
about to become the moms and
dads, the aunts and the uncles, who

will be responsible for bringing the

spirit of Santa back to life.
While it will be different to
no longer be the babies in our
grandparents eyes, Im excited
about my new role of making
Christmas special and fun for my
nieces and nephews.
Ive been calling myself an
honorable auntie, meaning that
while I may not biologically be
an aunt, at heart I am. Just as my
aunts and uncle took pictures of us
ripping open our gifts from Santa, I
will be at the ready. However, Ill be
using my smartphone rather than a
disposable film camera.
While we retain the same
traditions, my part in them is
going to change. Ive been making
cookies to share with family. Now
cookies will once again be made for
Santa to snack on while delivering
presents on a chilly Christmas Eve,
just as I remember as a child.
The new little ones will sneak
up or down the stairs to catch a
glimpse of Santa, only to find
the gifts already there, just as my
brother and I, and all the cousins
used to do.
To this day, my mother still waits
to put gifts under the tree after we
go to bed. Its a tradition I never
fully understood, but now when I
picture these future nieces and

From left to right, Marjorie with her cousins Bekka and April. Bekka
will have a little girl in February.

nephews, I get it I finally get

It seems that this holiday
it!
season is less about changing
Mom knew that Santa would traditions and more about
only be gone for a little while and changing roles.
come alive in the next generation
She keeps putting presents under
Marjorie Otto
the tree after we fall asleep because
she wants keep her Santa skills
sharp.