The Ties....or The PJ Drawstrings....That Bind

The Olde English Christian hymn reminds "Blest be the ties that bind..."  I find that I am more and more grateful, yes blessed, for and by traditions.  They are the ties that bind me to those I love most, particularly to my sisters.

Our mother was stubborn.  I can say that.  No one else had better, even though I am quite sure everyone knew.  Stubborness is a terrible affliction.  I am well aware, for I inherited that trait.  I am quite sure many readers will be stunned by that admission, and yet, I must say I respect that my mom was stubbornly committed to tradition.  From when presents were opened (and how) to where we sat for our Christmas meal (Diane, did you ever once sit beside Mark for Christmas dinner), from attending church as a family on certain special days and sitting always on the right side of the second row from the front to the order that the bereaved should enter the church to celebrate the life of a loved one lost, tradition and protocol were important to my mother.

Over many more years than I would care to count, one of my favorite yuletide traditions  became the comfortable certainty that three awkwardly wrapped presents with stick on bows would be found under the Blakeney tree each Christmas....awkwardly wrapped because Daddy usually had been pressed into last minute gift wrapping responsibility.  Somehow the surgical precision of this healer's hands did not always translate to his Christmas wrapping endeavors. Sorry, Daddy.

These three perhaps awkwardly dressed but decidedly precious packages held three perfectly identical pairs of pj's...one for Donna, one for Diane, and, yes, one for me.  Okay, okay already, maybe not perfectly identical....Donna's extra smalls, Diane's smalls, and my mediums....oh alright, sometimes larges.  As my mother required, we synchronized our gift opening so that three sisters unwrapped our "surprise" simultaneously, and no one sister could ruin the moment of discovery for the other two.  Should one sister inadvertently get ahead of the other two in the unwrapping process, she was quickly admonished by the ever watchful, ever anticipating mother overseeing it all.  Christmas happenings had usually come to an almost stop in the Blakeney living room, by now strewn in torn paper and unravelling bows and ribbon.  The younger grandchildren and often the husbands had long since moved on to playing or watching tv or a little more post dinner nibbling or dessert.  Daddy was out looking for trash bags.  Often, by the moment of the great annual pj reveal, only Mother, Donna, Diane, and I were still sitting and chatting and opening that last, looking back, most special gift.

Pj's now open, oohs and ahs and 'I love thems' complete, sometimes we modeled...sometimes not.  We laughed and joked....about Donna preferring the slightly more bare cami styles and about Diane's and my favorite and preferred flannels with long pants and long sleeves.  Is anyone really surprised by that?

Later every Christmas, clean-up complete, tummies full, eyelids heavy, cars loaded, three sisters left my parents' home and headed to our own. I always found a lingering joy and an extra little smile in thinking about those pj's.  Via the usually quite cute, but on rare occasions not especially so, pajamas,  I felt linked to my sisters and knew that although we each ventured separately on these Christmas Day nights back to our own homes, in fact back to different states, we were and always would be bound, as much so as if our pj drawstrings literally tied us together.

So, on this Christmas Day just past, when suddenly three mysterious gifts magically appeared....one for each of us...for Donna....for Diane...and for me....I caught my breath.  I vaguely remember hearing one of the grandchildren ask why Aunt Di, Aunt Donna, and Aunt Neesie had an extra gift...one more than everyone else.  (I would guess that query came from one of my all-knowing, all-counting children.)  I barely heard the wise Hannah respond that it was a "tradition"....a tradition my mom clung to as now, in her absence, so did her daughters.  My hands shook slightly as I opened my gift, but I already knew....it had to be....the pj's.

The trees are now down, the Christmas china put away.  The exchanges are made, the kicking myself for how much I have eaten begins.  The new year hangs on the horizon.  But, for now, for just another moment or two, I think I'll crawl back into my cozy Christmas pj's and nap... and remember....three awkwardly wrapped presents.....three perfectly identical pairs of pj's......ties that bind three sisters.  How about it, Girls?  Shall we?  I love you.....


PS: To Pat, for your ever present respect for and understanding of our past traditions, we love you.  We three look forward to building new traditions with you and Daddy.