Front Porch: There’s richness in ritual

A rainbow of brightly hued eggs peeked from the drab gray carton. It wouldn’t have been Easter weekend without colored eggs, jellybeans and new shirts for the boys to wear to church.

At 15 and 20, Sam and Zack gamely did their part to keep our Easter tradition alive, though coloring eggs no longer rates very high on their “fun things to do” lists.

The process is a lot quicker and a lot less messy with two young men than it was with four little boys. The best part is no one tries to drink the dye anymore. At least I don’t think they do.

As my nest empties it’s sometimes difficult to know which rituals to hold on to and which to let go of.

Flipping through the calendar I can spot a family tradition every month.

In January, we welcome the New Year with a huge gathering. Cousins, aunts and uncles arrive to polish off the Christmas goodies and celebrate the start of another year.

On Feb. 14 the boys wake up to pink milk, a lace tablecloth, fresh flowers, chocolates and valentines. My husband said, “You know you’re probably ruining them. When they get married they’re going to wake up on Valentine’s Day and wonder where the pink milk and lace tablecloth are.”

I shrugged. “As long as they live in my house, they’re my valentines.”

In March the house fills with the aroma of corned beef and cabbage. This tradition is more for Derek and me, but the boys nibble on the corned beef, sample the cabbage and scarf down the soda bread.

This week, the Easter Bunny accidentally left their baskets on my dresser instead of outside their bedroom doors. “I think she’s too tired to make it down the stairs,” I said.

No one complained. A new tradition may have been born.

On Memorial Day we visit their grandfathers’ graves. The yearly photos tell such a story. Toddlers clutching American flags in chubby fists have made way for somber, bearded young men. My heart aches when I see what my father and my father-in-law have missed.

The advent of June means I’ll be cooking breakfast twice. My family knows I don’t do mornings and definitely not breakfasts. But June brings Derek’s birthday and Father’s Day, so eggs are scrambled, sausage is cooked and I try really, really hard to smile when I serve it.

We spend July Fourth at Diamond Lake with family members who have a cabin there. A long, lazy day of food, family and fireworks means summer has officially arrived.

August brings al fresco dining most every night. When the boys were little this meant hamburgers and hot dogs served on a splintery hand-me-down picnic table, followed by epic squirt gun fights or splashing in an above-ground pool. But our tastes have evolved and so has our dining experience. In addition to casual fare, we often dine on steak, chicken or salmon on the delightful deck Derek built three summers ago. When the sun fades, we toast s’mores over the fireplace in what I’ve dubbed the “Great Gazebo.” If we’re really lucky, Zach brings out his guitar and music fills the evening.

September means first day of school photos – even for the college kid. Again, the pictures tell a story – from Spider-Man lunch boxes, to eye-rolling teens who all surpassed my height by their freshman year.

Last year for the first Halloween in family history, no pumpkins were carved. I think Derek kind of missed that, but we all enjoyed big bowls of chili and took turns answering the door to hand out candy.

Our Thanksgiving menu rarely changes but recently arthritis has made making homemade rolls too difficult for my mom. We miss them, but so far none of us misses them enough to learn how to bake them ourselves. Sometimes store-bought just has to do.

Christmas means celebrating a traditional Norwegian Christmas Eve at my sister-in-law’s house followed by a cozy Christmas morning at home.

But not all our rituals revolve around holidays.

Around 5:30 on weekday evenings I turn on the stereo, light some candles and get dinner started. The unconscious rhythm making simple meals like split pea with ham soup and cornbread soothes me. The smell of a ham bone that’s simmered all afternoon with bay leaf, garlic and thyme fills the house as I slide the tender meat from the bone and add chopped carrots, celery and split peas. I set out pretty dishes of butter and honey while the cornbread bakes and soup simmers. These acts nourish my soul after a long day spent staring at a computer screen and wrangling with words.

Meals like this are no longer a daily occurrence. We’re all simply too busy. But at least three times a week, we gather around the table and the conversation is more important than the food. Big topics like politics and religion, funny stories about work or school, these words weave us together, connecting us like threads in a quilt.

I recently read an article about the importance of family rituals to teenagers. The writer said traditions give teens a sense of identity and belonging as well as create memories that will last a lifetime.

All I know is, whether it’s family dinner, Saturday chores, or Sunday church attendance, simple rituals add depth, context and security to family life. It’s also the reason so many of our sentences begin with “Remember the time …?”