Every year, starting sometime around December 15th, my Mother starts to stress over where we’re going to find blood oranges. These aren’t exceptionally tasty oranges. Nor are they particularly sweet or juicy. They’re simply red. And they’re the star ingredient of the Rosser family Holiday Punch. Blood oranges are, in my opinion, the Christmas citrus. Much like the candy cane is the Christmas candy and the Poinsettia is the Christmas flower…
This year, it was decided that we would stop at Whole Foods on our way home from the airport several hours away in search for this year’s crop of blood oranges. As my Mother and I walked by the meats and cheeses by the deli section, I started to explain to her the famous and divine Beecher’s Cheese that can be found at Pike Place Market. When we walked past the teas and coffees, I made a great attempt to explain to her exactly what Matcha is and the important role that it plays in the traditional Japanese tea ceremony. When we were by the chocolates I showed her just how many were actually made in Seattle. Then I expressed great sorrow when I couldn’t find my favorite kind (Almonds & Sea Salt in Dark Chocolate). Later, as I sat eating my kale and quinoa salad, rattling off all of my whims and fancies, my Mother continued to humor me into thinking that she was actually interested as every nice Mother would.
It wasn’t until I arrived at home several hours later, that I began to realize just how much I’ve changed. Perhaps this feeling is only amplified by the fact that absolutely nothing changes in my hometown of nowhere, Virginia. My room has the same wall paper I picked out in the 3rd grade. When my brother and I are home, we still butcher the latest pop song on the piano and/or recorder (this year, Justin Bieber’s U Smile). Mrs. Cook sings “O Holy Night” at the Christmas Eve Service. Our annual Christmas Eve party features the same dishes, including Mother’s baked ham, a cheese dish I learned back in my Chatham Hall days, and Aunt Phyllis’ Rice Krispies Treats. On Christmas day, after we rush through presents, we make our way to Staunton, VA, stopping only at Sheetz for gas and free coffee. At Aunt Bruce’s house, there are always at least 3 types of meat, a big vat of corn pudding, and an endless supply of Sister Schubert rolls. After lunch, we shoot skeet. We open presents. We eat dessert. We head home.
And yet while I and many of my tastes have changed over the past few years (including but not limited to my love of fine cheese, good coffee, and dark chocolate), when I go home, I know that the most important things haven’t. I don’t mean so much the traditions that at times can feel more like routines. Rather, it’s the love that I find myself surrounded by that remains constant and enduring.
As we reflect on the New Year and what we hope to change about ourselves over the next twelve months, I hope that we can also recall and be thankful for those things that remain the same, like God’s constant and enduring love for us.
