Ed­i­tor’s Note

Tra­di­tions Mean Some­thing

Timber Home Living - - Contents - DONNA PEAK Ed­i­tor-in-Chief dpeak@aim­me­dia.com

Grow­ing up, my fam­ily had a Christ­mas rit­ual from which we did not de­vi­ate. It en­tailed church on Christ­mas Eve, af­ter which we’d come home, turn on the tree lights, drink eggnog and open one (some­times two) gifts each, as a pre­view of what was in store come morn­ing. The tree stayed on all night long.

When Christ­mas morn­ing fi­nally came, I’d rise be­fore the sun and beg my par­ents to get out of bed to start the day. (Ac­tu­ally, I still haven’t out­grown this one, only now I’m beg­ging my 13-year-old daugh­ter to wake up in­stead.) My dad would brew a pot of cof­fee, and my mom would turn soft car­ols on the ra­dio. Af­ter we un­wrapped our im­me­di­ate fam­ily’s gifts, my dad’s par­ents ar­rived for brunch, and some­where around one o’clock in the af­ter­noon, we’d head to my mom’s par­ents for a big old tra­di­tional fam­ily Christ­mas, with two of our own spe­cial twists:

1. In­stead of a for­mal sit-down din­ner, we had a buf­fet of an un­be­liev­ably large cold-cut plat­ter, sal­ads, my grand­mother’s heav­enly ham-and-navy-bean soup and about a dozen dif­fer­ent cook­ies for dessert. Ev­ery­one sim­ply grabbed what they wanted when they were hun­gry and re­turned to the fun.

2. With the presents opened, the evening was capped off by a game of penny-ante poker that lasted late into the night. As a lit­tle girl, I’d perch my­self on a stool and watch the grown-ups deal the cards. When I turned 12, I was fi­nally al­lowed to play. My grand­mother al­ways sat next to me and se­cretly slipped me a few coins when my funds would run low so that I could stay in the game. Christ­mas rarely ended while the cal­en­dar still showed the date as De­cem­ber 25th.

These are mem­o­ries I’ll cher­ish for­ever. And now that all but one of my grand­par­ents are gone and I live 200 miles from where I grew up, they serve as my muse as I strive to make Christ­mas tra­di­tions for my own fam­ily. The fact is, it doesn’t mat­ter where you are or what your house looks like. The peo­ple you’re with and the mem­o­ries you make within those walls … this is the true def­i­ni­tion of “home.” From our Tim­ber Home Liv­ing fam­ily to yours, we hope you have a mem­o­rable hol­i­day sea­son.

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