Martini Induced Thought

Last evening I held in my hand the last vestige of summer, and with the assistance of a few olives and a waft of the ceremonial bottle of vermouth, enjoyed the last of my Sapphire Gin. Martini style, shaken with three cubes not stirred; three olives, no vodka!  Sapphire Gin is not particularly rare or expensive, but it will be the last of this liquor genre for me until the greening buds signal spring’s return. Drinking has seasonal temperaments and Gin is a distinctly warm weather drink. 

The last of the Gin has been a bit of a private tradition for me.  No fuss, no fanfare, just a simple classic cocktail, a nod to the gods and a wave to the departed season.  You know the drill, One for me, one for my hommies. I had 9 olives for company and we said goodbye slowly with all due reverence to the Juniper laced beauty .

Do the math.

Traditions come and go, eclipsing my little private gin ceremony, some are profound, while others boarder on insanity.

Now is the time of the year for tradition.  We are steeped in it, roiled over and over again with the Martha or Jimmy Stewart-esk (not sure which is worse?) ideas of holiday grandeur. Pummeled with holiday songs we can’t relate too but sing along with; really who wants 12 maids a milking anyway? The Norman Rockwell, Bing Crosby moments we all crave, snow painted on a Christmas card hung around the doorway….. really even in  Florida.  We are faced with questions at once mundane but potentially life altering: Mom always made the turkey with the stuffing inside, will she give me the look of death if I make it my way this year? Will she hex my family?

I’m not trying to humbug here, I like these traditions, they just get me thinking. I want to know if it is possible to deliberately start a tradition, can you force a tradition? (Can something be at the same time first and annual as in “the 1^st annual reptile awareness telethon”?)  Google the definition and think with me.  If a tradition is a set of cultural beliefs and customs handed down, or a customary pattern of thought and action as described by www.merriam-webster.com, can you start one knowingly?  In my opinion trying to deliberately start a tradition is more of a like making a mandate than a custom.  Let’s face it, to get a tradition rolling you need a good bit of guilt slinging and cajoling, prodding your will onto others until it sticks in their head like gum to hair. There is a time element here, one occurrence of the activity does not define the tradition, it takes years and a general level of acceptance for an item to become a tradition. 

Traditions are fun, it connects us with our past and this connection provides comfort to the masses.  We don’t need to wonder how to do some things, or even why we do some things. We just know it has to be done, like migrating wildebeest, we follow those before us.  What strikes me is that unlike the migratory herds our survival is typically not dependent on tradition.  On the contrary, a few of humanities traditions are truly barbaric, think:  4^th grade Christmas pageant, or 6^th grade swimming class.

Barbarity aside, we all face the dilemma of breaking tradition.  It’s almost an inevitable part of life with a spouse.  Something has to give and you make comprises; you weigh which traditions to hold, which to break and who to disappoint.  It’s never easy, folks tend to expand the tradition ahead of time, count on its holding fast regardless of the circumstances.  So a tradition your parents have established with you is expected to be passed to your kids, as if it’s attached to the genetic code.  “My father did it this way, and so do I! What do you mean you are tying the left shoe first! You are dooming that child! Men in this family always tie the right shoe first! Ah 65 years of tradition ruined!” cue Gasp and a dramatic fall to the floor.

I have broken a few traditions along the path.  And strangely nothing bad has happened, a chasm hasn’t swallowed me, locusts have not infested my hair.  Usually, there is a slow build up to the event, and then……nothing, relief almost, a whimper really, maybe a guilt hand grenade from Great Aunt Sally, poof and it’s over.  Eventually you are going to break a tradition, and since there is no fair in family you are not going to be in control of which you break. To this I will offer the following consolation prize.  Since traditions tie us to the past, breaking the tradition is a step forward, and a step forward is progress , typically  a good thing. Failing that, just look to Mr. Clark W. Griswold and see for yourself what a good dose of Rockwellian nostalgia steeped in tradition can do, be afraid.

The Road to Snozzcumber

Have you ever found yourself doing things the hard way just to see how you would stand up to the challenge? People do it right? Like the people who sled solo across Antarctica, or the nuts who climb Everest from the north face rather than the oh-so-simple southern approach.  We watch dramatic TV shows where the hero, imaginary or real, rises to the occasion with fortitude and pluck.  We all would like to think we have the nerve to be the hero, to do the outstanding in a time of crisis.  I think this is good, after all its “human beans” ability to put others needs ahead of their own that make us stand out among primates.  But does it count if you put yourself in the situation?  Is the guy who rows across the Atlantic as much of a hero as the guy who rescues a comrade on the battlefield?  I don’t know, and I’m not here to judge others. (don’t worry it’s a temporary condition)

Back to doing things the hard way:  So as a kid I would try and get across the creek by jumping from one stone to the next.  Becoming easy so the game changed to jumping across and not using certain stones,  eventually this became easy, so to add fear into the equation (the stream was super shallow) you had to jump across the stream, while skipping certain stones, in your Sunday Church clothes….Fear of mom’s wrath.

Or perhaps, more timely: Black Friday Shopping.  You know the stores will be packed, you know it will be frustrating. Seizing the challenge you plunge headlong into the parking lot of the KOP mall, grab a Starbucks and shop, contending with the masses along the way. The whole time thinking, “Ha I laugh in your general direction, pig noses.” Ok well maybe not, but you get my point.

In College I took American Lit 1.  The Prof was a rotund egomaniac who liked to quote Melville.  In fact he challenged us to try and write a sentence in Melville’s style better than he could…yeah that’s fair, PhD in American Lit vs. hung over freshman checking out the girl in the front row. For some reason this stuck with me, and erupted into action the last time I was book shopping. Rather than pick up the 200 page “Moby Dick” edition for 7 bucks, I got the Herman Melville anthology, 5 novels and 1800 pages of tiny font for the bargain of $8.50.  My plan was to heroically read the novels in order, culminating in the crown jewel “Moby Dick” and somehow distil a fine appreciation of Melville narration by watching it refine itself through the novels.

Last night I finished the last novel prior to “Moby Dick” I can at least now see the finish line. Already I can say that this accomplishment ranks exactly as the 1256^th best thing I have ever done, (1255th is tying the maraschino cherry stem into a knot with my tongue and 1257^th is learning how to reload a mechanical pencil without taking off the eraser.) So you can see how transcendental the experience has been thus far.  The potential for reward here is low and I know it.

Maybe “Moby Dick” holds the key, like the golem held the ring….maybe the gates of wisdom will open “Call me Ishmael.” !Wham! A bolt hits me and the previous 1486 pages will be worth it. I will be able to call up the professor and speak in rambling overly didactic sentences, riffing between sailing phrases and expositions on the mundane yet relevant lives of sailors. Brilliantly I will enter into ruminating conversation questioning the moral code of 1850’s Americana by juxtaposing it to the tranquil bliss of primal South Pacific islands.

Yeah I doubt it too…looks like Snozzcumbers and Frobscottle’s for me.