Do married couples still hold hands?
I like it when my husband of almost 43 years reaches out and grabs mine when we’re walking. Call me old-fashioned—or just a softy—but it makes me feel good. Kind of like, “Hey, he still likes me!”
I don’t know about you, but I like some traditions. For example, my background is British. I’m only a second-generation Canadian, so quite a few things were passed down from my British grandparents to my first-generation Canadian parents.
At Christmas, we always had those traditional Christmas crackers beside each plate. No, not something you eat. Picture a festive little tube, about the size of a toilet paper roll (you’re welcome for that visual), wrapped in shiny paper with the ends twisted and tied off like candy. Inside, there was usually a toy, a paper hat, and some sort of corny little saying. I’m sure what’s inside varies by manufacturer, but the basic idea is this: one person grabs one end, another grabs the other, and they both pull. The cracker goes “bang!” and—if you’re lucky—some of the goodies fly out.
Fun fact (thank you, Google, and AI):
“Christmas crackers go bang due to a small amount of an explosive substance, silver fulminate, and friction… The friction between two coated strips generates enough heat to ignite the silver fulminate, causing a small explosion and a loud bang.”
Sounds a bit dangerous when you put it like that, but really, it’s just harmless fun. If you felt particularly festive, you could wear the paper hat during dinner. This curmudgeon? I abstained. (There are limits.)
Another tradition in our family was the “train case” for girls when they graduated Grade 8. It was a small, hard-sided suitcase—about a foot long—with a mirror in the lid. Technically for toiletries, but more of a coming-of-age thing. Then, when you graduated from Grade 12, you got two real suitcases. Not sure if we were being encouraged to travel or politely nudged to move out…
Now, one tradition I could have done without: at age ten, my mother took me to the china department at The Bay and told me to pick out my wedding china. Yep, at ten. So, there I was, this tiny human staring at all these elegant patterns, trying to choose wisely for a life I hadn’t even begun to imagine. Thankfully, I chose well—I still like the pattern. Unfortunately, by the time I got married, using “good” china had fallen out of fashion.
So here I am, nearly 43 years married, and the china’s been used exactly once. One. Single. Time.
Normally, the tradition was to pass the china down to your daughter. Well, I didn’t go forth and multiply, so there’s no daughter to inherit my twelve place settings, serving platters, teapot, and every other ceramic doodad you can think of. They’re all packed away, waiting for someone else to deal with after I depart this earth. Oh—and the reason you had to pick your pattern so young? Because every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary for the next ten or so years? You guessed it: more china.
Another tradition: planting a garden and canning the results. It’s one I’m glad to see making a comeback—especially with today’s grocery prices. My parents canned and froze all kinds of fruits and vegetables, and made jam, too. I don’t think I had store-bought canned goods until I was an adult. In the middle of winter, opening a jar of preserved peaches was like a little taste of summer. It was just good food—simple, fresh, and full of flavour.
Like I said, some traditions are lovely. Others… not so much. But what they all have in common is that they leave you with memories. Mostly good ones. I still remember my dad, every Christmas, wearing his paper hat from the Christmas cracker. Always a good sport.
I’ve got plenty more traditions I could talk about, but I won’t bore you. I was just taking a quick stroll down memory lane and thought I’d share.
And, as Tigger would say, “TTFN – Ta-ta for now!”