The Diary of Ashley Spencer: Keeping Up Traditions

Traditions are important for keeping a family glued together, because truthfully, what else would? Family members, especially as they age, become less and less likable. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stop loving the people in my family; I just don’t really like them the way I like my own friends or the older and vaguely sexy conductor who punches my ticket on the Metra.

As my grandma has aged, she’s become more honest, which truthfully is a nice way of saying she’s gotten meaner. She complains at restaurants if her chicken noodle soup isn't homemade (it never is) or isn’t hot enough to scald her tongue. Once, she said to our quiet little waiter, “Can I have no tomatoes, olives, or cucumbers on my salad?” Then she sent the salad back three times, each time asking for one of the items she'd specifically banned. I mouthed “I’m so sorry” to the waiter, and then later made the shape of a gun with my fingers, signaling my feelings about my grandmother. Still, my love for her, as well as a heavy sense of obligation, makes me call her every week, and take her out for coffee or not-homemade soup at the local Noodles and Company.

This weekend, my cousin Amanda and I decided it might make our slightly Scroogey grandma less grumpy if we took her to Macy’s for some Christmas shopping. When Amanda and I were little, Grandma would bring us to to Macy's (which was called Marshall Fields at the time) every year at Christmas. We would look at the decorated windows, which always had a theme, like Pinocchio, The Night Before Christmas, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and we would buy our parents small Christmas presents with our grandmother’s endless supply of money from her fat wallet. Macy's was a family tradition.

On Saturday, we went to the store and perused the designer bags, and, because it's totally not weird to look for thongs with your grandma, the lingerie department. None of us were particularly interested in shopping. I had already gotten my gifts, and I didn't want to buy anything for myself, since I have a job that pays me mostly in bottled water. My grandma has also gotten cheaper as she's aged; she’s scared she’ll outlive the money she’s budgeted and have to eat non-homemade soup in her later years, or, worse, Ramen. My cousin Amanda works for a woman’s accessories company and therefore gets all the girly things she wants for free.

We abandoned shopping and decided to go see Santa. Because 23-year-olds do that on weekends.

Visiting Big Claus was our most time-honored tradition when we were kids. We would for hours in line, sucking on candy cane after candy cane. Finally, we would make it to the Big Man and rush into his fat lap. I remember I generally wanted something pretty regular, like a bike, or the new, very flexible, double-jointed gymnastic Barbie, or a science kit to poison my little brother, who at that time had no rap star aspirations.

Now my requests have changed.

One of Santa's elves informed us that the wait would take about an hour. Because my grandma has arthritis, and because both my cousin and I were tired from our hellish work weeks, we decided to forgo sitting on the big man's lap. Fortunately, for those too lazy to wait in line, there was a mailbox and some slips of paper to drop Santa some snail mail. I begged my family to wait a second while I filled out a postcard, using a different color crayon for each word:

Dear Santa,
Please give me a new job. A cool one. And an apartment. With granite counter tops and cool posters and a bookshelf. Could you throw in a washer and dryer? That’s it.

Kisses,
A. Spence

After our not-so-traditional Santa visit, we visited the ornament department. Ever since we were little, my grandma has bought my cousin and me matching ornaments. We picked out one that said “Chicago” in bright sparkly letters with the outline of the skyline in the backdrop. As my grandmother waited in line, I felt a surge of sleepiness take over me. Pretending I needed to make a call, I walked over to bedding. I sat on the edge of the bed, resting my head on my hands, my eyes half open, tired from the events of a Christmas-themed cocktail party the night before.

Suddenly, I felt someone plop down next to me.

“Rough night?” said a girl with a Macy’s tag pinned on her collared shirt.

“It’s been a long day, too,” I said, embarrassed of my semi-homeless state in the middle of a store. We traded stories about nightclubs and places to go, and agreed that shopping is a terrible Christmas tradition. Then I remembered my poor grandma with the shopping bags and excused myself.

“Merry Christmas,” I told her, picking myself up from the bed.

“You too girl,” she called after me.

It was time for dinner. As young children, we would wait in line for hours to eat a mac 'n cheese lunch next  to the famous Christmas tree at Macy’s, which seemed to be 1,000 feet tall, climbing toward the ceiling in the center of room.

We were seated by the tree. It seemed smaller, but I'm taller, or maybe just less easily impressed. Despite knowing it was beyond fattening, I ordered a mac 'n cheese from the kids menu. Because sometimes we take comfort in doing the same things year after year. They are safe. And sometimes these things change a little: my grandma ordered us champagne. We toasted to a new year. I wished again for an apartment and a dog and a new bike too. Then, breaking from her normal ritual, my grandma managed to go through an entire meal without badgering the waitress for extra lemons or complaining about the coolness of her obviously steaming dinner. And that was fine with me.

What are your family traditions? Share with Ashley!

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