Introducing our Picasso

E. about to begin his painting--with no timidity or hesitation to create--just a bold desire to mix and twirl the colors.  Pablo Picasso said, "All children are artists.  The problem is how to remain an artist once they grow up."

I have always thought that being creative helps us to feel more alive, more happy--whatever age.  I am learning that art is a way to glimpse the beauty my boy with autism sees around him.  Part of our home routine is now getting out the paint and clay. 

E. and his art teacher working together in an after school session.  I guess I could also say 'Introducing our Jackson Pollack.' His teacher, Mr. Gabe, taught him to splash paint on a piece of paper, with cardboard in the background.  

Sometimes I scratch my head with bewilderment on how to engage my 13 year old son with autism--how to release those submerged emotions that sometimes erupt in unexpected, and yes, occasionally inappropriate ways.  Although he is extremely verbal (sometimes his speech is repetitive and silly), I am deeply grateful for his ability to communicate, answer questions, and thus, move others with his simple, earnest thoughts.  However, much of the routines of a typical child, like academics, play dates, extra curricular activities are all haltingly hard for him, and sometimes difficult for me to navigate.  I would say that autism + adolescence = some swirling storms.

Yet, even amidst the tempests, I feel blessed.  In our autism journey together as a family (and it has required ALL of us), there have always been people who have appeared, almost magically, to come to our rescue when I desperately needed a clue on how to proceed.  These relief workers even pop up in Qatar.  When one moves across the world with a child with a disability, it is particularly poignant to find someone who is willing to enter into your child's world--to travel with you, even sporadically on this autism journey for awhile.

The first time I met Mr. Gabe, E's middle school art teacher,  I knew we were kindred spirits.  Both of us have the same dream of teaching art in a barn someday (he is ahead of me because he already owns his barn).  His current classroom is a delightful, colorful refuge from E's academic efforts--a place to create, discover, learn, and thus foster self-understanding for him.  Although he teaches him two times during the school week, he offered to work with him one afternoon after school--just one-on-one.

Preparing for a painting....    One of the things I like about doing art with E. is that he is free of any self-criticism; he believes he can be an artist any time he brings out the paint or clay.  There are no reservations about the endless possibilities to  create in his mind.   

Each time I go to pick him up, creativity seems to pour out of a hole in the roof-- to not only my son with autism, but to me.  There is always some mellow jazz or inviting classical music floating in the air--settling any residual conflicts in him that occurred during the day.  When I hear the rich, sonorous sounds of the music and watch him create, ideas distill on me also.  I do not only desire to pick up a paint brush, but I am configuring how to duplicate a studio for both of us in my small patch of grass in Qatar.  I want to see E's bold temerity in front of a canvas at home too--the same inquisitiveness, focus, and desire to create that I see in Mr. Gabe's classroom.  William Carlos Williams's words from a poem comes to mind:  "Catch an eyeful, catch an earful. and don't drop what you caught."  His class stirs, motivates me to "catch" some creativity, to make something beautiful with my son.

The experience of entering Mr. Gabe's classroom reminded me of a book that I utilized with my other five children called Doing Art Together: Discovering the joys of appreciating and creating art as taught at The Metropolitan Museum of Art's famous parent-child workshop By Muriel Silberstein-Storfer.  I bought the book when my first child was a few months old in NYC as I carried her around The Met one day.   I was envisioning many dreamy, but yet productive hours behind the easel with my children.  And we did have many messy, creative times in the ensuing years.  But somehow I forgot about that book when Elias came along with his autism.   We have created with clay, paint, paper (actually, many times), but I now realize it was not nearly enough.

Mr. Gabe has reminded me that I need to do more art with him--listening to him as he discovers himself on the canvas or paper.  His comments intrigue me, as he fuses his own inner world with the paint and clay.  This week as he patted the paint on the canvas to make autumn leaves, he said that the colors were "spicy--just like Indian food."  As we stirred the warm colors on the palette, I observed his joyful face--no self-judgment--just pure joy to create.

These mediums, so unassuming and seemingly insignificant sitting on a shelf, are like a window for both of us to expand his world.  As Dieter Uchdorf said in a talk on creativity, "The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul."  So until I get my barn someday, I have made a little studio in our backyard in Qatar-- hoping that streams of creativity will pour down from the sky to us. You never know... maybe we really will open a gallery here in our compound.

“The soul should always stand ajar.  Ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.    --Emily Dickinson

 

E. and I in our new Qatar studio outside on the patio--trying to be open to any creative sparks that are ready to come alive....

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Travels with Camels!

My dad trying to talk to a 'camel whisperer' from Sudan.

Going to the San Diego Zoo as a young child, I always had to stop and take a peek at the camels--whether they were the dromedary (one hump) or bactrian (two hump) variety.   Camels, with their spindly legs, bubble eyes, long lashes, and winsome grins, in my innocent experience, only belonged in zoos. However, while living in the Middle East, one can observe they are ubiquitous in paintings, sculpture, road signs, fairs, and even alongside the highway (fenced in a pen).  But the camel racing season in Qatar from November to February takes the camel spotting to an entire new level. 

The 'camel whisperers' off to train their camels.

It is a singular experience to be surrounded by camels, with riders from all over the world, elegantly hoisted behind the one humped dromedary.  Early in the morning you can stand in the sand, alongside the tracks, as caravans of camels pass by--shouting greetings and encouragement to the 'camel whisperers.'  In the past there were human rights allegations for underage jockeys, but  in 2005 Emir Hamad Al Thani of Qatar issued a ban on all child jockeys, and pronounced camel races would be directed by robots. 

These are the robots that the camels wear on their backs as they race.

Imagine yourself standing next to the caravans with hundreds of camels sauntering by--off to the race track. It almost makes you feel like you are traveling on the Silk Road many centuries ago or a character in The Arabian Nights.

There are seemingly hundreds of camels and their riders; it is a national sport here, as it is in Bahrain, UAE, Egypt, Mongolia, Pakistan, Jordan, Oman, and Australia.  Few ' camel whisperers' speak any English, but they all hold up their thumbs, and wave as they saunter by on the camels, perched behind the hump.  

Young 'camel whisperers' off to train the camels.

Feed Store for the camels out by the racetrack.  There are camel veterinarians, seamstresses that make their mouthpieces, and even a Camel Race Grocery Store.

 In the early morning the camels are being trained--meaning they trot around the track, often times with younger camels next to them, showing them their future.  The camel tracks are very long ovals (4km-6km) so there are just a few seats to watch the races--no large grandstands.  Just imagine three concentric racetracks next to each other, with the camels in the dirt racetrack in the center.  The camel owners are in their SUV's racing alongside their prized camels, and the outer track is for the spectators who are driving along side the track--trying not to crash into one another as they watch the camels run the speed at 65 km/h or 40mph in short sprints.  They can maintain a speed of 40 km/h or 25 mph for an hour.  

My childhood intrigue with camels continues here in Qatar.  To bounce along on a camel in the desert have been some of my most magical moments in the Middle East.   A trek, a journey, a chance to travel... maybe I was meant to be a sojourner.   But to travel with a camel, in my opinion, means you are doing it in style!  

Camels on their training track.

Beware of camel caravans on the road in Qatar!

There are only a few countries in the world that  have road signs for drivers to warn them about camels!

Make way for camels....

   

My mom and dad at a museum with a Bedouin tent, and a fake camel in the background.  Camels can drink 30 gallons of water in about 13 minutes.  I am sure the Bedouins toted immense amounts of water in all their travels.

Every day I pass a camel farm when I take my son to school, right here in Doha.  At this particular sighting, one of them seemed to be slow dancing back and forth to music.  It is hilarious when all of them in the same pen twist their long, angular necks to look your way, batting their long eyelashes, and unabashedly stare at you. They have no sense of propriety that the stare was little too long.  Ha!    

My personal favorite logo here in Doha (from the post of 'An Event or Rare Extraordinaire).  

Some of my family near Gaza--their first camel rides.  'Camel Whisperers' in Egypt named their camels (mine was named Michael Jackson),  and clucked their tongue at them, scooting them along.  They whistled, sang, and really did whisper to them.  It is easy to observe that they have traveled many roads together, and know one another well.  I guess in order to cross a sweltering desert together one must have a mutually reciprocative connection--a trust that you both will not be nomads forever....  

Sand Sledding in Qatar

Circa 2002 Good times with friends at Art Hill on a toboggan in St. Louis.  Yep, the sled is thaaaat long!

Circa 2010 One of the city sledding landmarks for generations in St. Louis--Art Hill, which is across from the St. Louis Art Museum.  Underneath the statue of King Louis IX is a blazing bonfire that people are standing around.  Sometimes there were several fires at the top of the hill--enough room for anybody to warm up.

It is a biting 60 degrees over here in Doha during the day.  On the streets and in the compound, I see workmen wearing stocking caps and gloves.  Yikes, it is the winter season here in Qatar!  Lately I have been making hot chocolate, herbed tea, savory soups, and even wearing a stocking hat myself to the mall!  Ha!   For a girl from San Diego, California, I always relished the gray, icy days in New York City, Baltimore, New Jersey, and even in Beijing where I have lived as an adult.  My sentiments exactly match those of Robert Frost (notice his last name), the poet from Vermont, "You can't get too much winter in the winter."  In the ensuing years with my children and their friends, I made up for any snowy days I did not experience in San Diego (although my memories of wintry beach walks are magical too).  As their mom, I would yelp with joy as loud as any of them when a snow day was announced--maybe even in a more booming tone....

Circa 2001 Children's faces in the snow=one of my favorite things....

When I see the weather reports of minus degrees and polar vortex in parts of the world right now (as I am surrounded by sand), my inner child gets a little homesick.  To wake up in the morning and see the world blanketed with snow is like entering into a fairy tale; the lace of snow seems to renew the world--especially the first snowfall of the season.  The backdrop changes in the seasons never fail to rejuvenate me, and make me feel like a child again.

Sometimes I yearn for a crackly fire in the fireplace, snow days off from school, snow forts, and jumping in the big van with a pile of sleds and kids to go slide down a hill.   I would bring thermoses of steaming hot chocolate for everybody on the hill, and the wintry magic would blow--encircling us with warmth--even in the stinging air.   Sometimes the kids would stay on the same hill for the whole day--making jumps to fly over on the sled, as they wove around their fellow sledders.  I am glad I didn't trek them home too early--not until they ached and pled to leave the hill.  I knew these moments would last forever--not only in me, their snow-starved mother, but in their sacred chambers of memories.

Circa 1999 I told you I was crazy for snow.

When I heard that outside of Doha there were sand dunes to slide and sled on, my inner child was entranced, even excited, to explore the beige barrenness of sand around me.   Although it meant a messy car with peppered sand, I was ready to try this new kind of adventure in the sand dunes.   I wanted to carve some seasonal activities that make me feel like it is actually winter--besides making a hearty new soup.   The vast openness of the horizon, and stomping and slithering around in the sand were an unexpected gift to someone who is missing a snowstorm right now.  Indeed, our inner child can be filled and enlivened in a myriad of ways--especially if there are children around to show us how.

Joseph and I tramped up a few times, and slid down the dunes--barefoot, and blissfully happy--just like a pair of wonder-awed kids....   

J. feeling like he is King of the Dunes--just about to slide down.

Looking at the sunset on the horizon.  It started to get cold so a bonfire was made for "the sledders."

We might be in the desert, but a bonfire is still a welcoming reception after the desert chill blows in.  

No hot chocolate here on THIS hill--just give me some water please....

E. learning how to slide down a sand dune in Qatar

Z. at the top of the sand dune.  Funny thing is, he is my son's good friend (and a special family friend), and came to visit us in Qatar.  I remember giving him hot chocolate in St. Louis on top of another kind of sledding hill....

Look who came to the party!  We found a desert sojourner on the crest of the dune.

Lessons Learned:

1) Seek the companionship of children because they use all their senses to experience every moment.  Adventures with them make us more alive, and revitalize our sometimes weary-worn adult spirits.  Tiptoe around tide pools and slide down sand dunes--even if you get sand in your hair.  

2) Adjustments and adaptions to former traditions are always possible.  You can even make yourself believe it is really winter in Qatar.   

"Helpers" Who Carry Us Through Sandstorms and Fog....

Desert Fog

When I woke up in the morning after the terrorist attacks in France, the dawn only faintly appeared to be on the horizon.  Instead, the transparent light was blocked, and heavy fog hovered over Doha, Qatar.  I was somewhat nervous to drive my son to school, not being able to clearly see the oncoming traffic.

Later in the same afternoon, another kind of dimness began to hang over the city: a swirling sandstorm blew in to shroud Doha, and blew a murky haze that stubbornly clung to buildings and mosques around the region.  Again, in just one day, my vision was blocked from seeing in the distance.  The usual bright, radiant sunlight was dimmed, almost fading away in the mid afternoon. Dark shadows approached earlier with the sunset, and the luminous pastels that typically paint the sky were covered with a lingering sandstorm.  A layer of dusty sand speckled everything in view.

Just as the terrain here in Qatar was heavy with clouds and sand, there was also a grief, even a gloom, that would not blow away in me after hearing about the French terrorist attacks.  A line in a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins is recalled: "I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day."  My heart hurt for the families of those who had died, and lives who were so needlessly lost.  I was heartened to hear that the Emir Sheikh Tamim Bin Hamad Al Thani of Qatar called French President Francois Hollande.  He expressed his condolences and sympathy to the government and families of the victims, and professed a "harsh condemnation" about the attacks.  Also, I unequivocally believe Malek Merabet, the brother of the slain Muslim policeman who was killed on the sidewalks of Paris when he said, "My brother was Muslim, and he was killed by two terrorists, by two false Muslims."

A picture of Doha during the sandstorm. 

He movingly continued, "Islam is a religion of peace and love.  I address myself now to all the racists, Islamophobes and anti-Semites.  One must not confuse extremists with Muslims.  Mad people have neither color or religion.  I want to make another point:  don't tar everybody with the same brush.  Don't burn mosques--or synagogues. You are attacking people...."

Since moving to Doha, Qatar a few months ago,  I have been greatly touched by the pure goodness of my new Muslim neighbors and friends--people whom I cherish and love now.  While I celebrated and worshipped during the Christmas holidays, my dear neighbor and friend, Abier, went to Mecca and Medina with her family.  When she returned, we sat down to talk about the holidays that we shared with our families.

She spoke with me about her experiences in Islam's holy sights, and then movingly said to me, as she held my hand, "I couldn't stop thinking about you and your family while I was in Mecca and Medina. As her beautiful eyes gazed into my own, she said, "I prayed for you and each of your family. Everytime I went around the Ka'ba, I thought, I should pray for one more person in your family."   I intuitively felt of her spiritual experience, and her enlarged heart.  As she spoke to me in such a tender, kind way, a few tears swelled in my eyes.  Her daily attempts to compassionately love stir me; our friendship makes me want to be a better person.

Although around the world people continue to place borders on their love and acceptance of others, I still believe that a quote by the English poet, Coventry Patmore is achievable--not only in individuals, but in neighborhoods, and even in communities.  He states that ties and links in a community are formed... "not in similarity, but in dissimilarities,... not in unison, but conjunction, which can only be between spiritual dissimilars."  I daresay the most beautiful mosaics and paintings are the ones with the most contrast, texture, and color--where the greatest differences exist.

War, strife, terrorism will likely continue, but I am consoled when I see the innumerable good people of this world--the people who are willing to embrace, rescue, comfort.  They are all around us, much of the time at our elbow as we sit on a bus or train.  Surely, we walk by them every day.

Fred Rogers, the American educator and television host for several generations of children said, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers.  You will always find people who are helping.'  To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are so many helpers--so many caring people in this world."

After this week, I am more committed to being "a helper"--wherever the road leads....

We have felt grief and mourning in the world this week, but cleansing rain always returns to clear the bleak fog and sandstorms.  I believe people are ultimately merciful, unifying, and resilient.  To feel the drizzle this week in Doha (after the sandstorms and fog) reminds me of hope--that light will penetrate the shadows. Indeed,  I am confident that there will always be "helpers" in the world who will rise up, and slice away the intolerances and false judgements--erasing hate in hidden corners and loving unexpected people.  As Martin Luther King taught, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."  My experiences and journeys in Qatar are showing me there is tremendous love in all pockets of this world, and that it can unfailingly wash away the darkness--drop by drop.

     

Opening new gates and doors in 2015

Visiting a door in the The Old Bazaar market in Cairo, Egypt.   There was a dim, dark alleyway that beckoned to me, and this door was the treasure that I found.  I was told it was about 800 years old. It was dangling open already, like a welcoming portal, to come feel its weathered surface and smell the remote past. The room beyond was empty, but still seemed to contain lingering remembrances of times long gone....

I have always been drawn to old gates and doors; they whisper softly of cherished homes with their long vanished children, parents, and merchants who daily used them. They are symbolic of being able to open new chapters--reviving hope, rebirth, promises.  Similarly, they are passageways to daring treks and adventures, but there is a condition--one must turn the right key to swing open a locked door.  There are innumerable enticing, beautiful doors and gates to open.  Sometimes it is challenging to know which one to access--to know which one is your destined entryway.  Emily Dickinson advised, "Not knowing when the dawn will come, I will open every door."  But I still ask, what doors and gates are we to open?  Which is the right one?

Since it is a new year, I have been reflecting on old and new gates in my life, and I came across a poem that was quoted by King George VI on Christmas Day in 1939 when he made his first speech as England was confronted with unfamiliar challenges on the brink of World War II.   The speech was dramatized in the movie The King's Speech. First of all, he gave words of encouragement, and then he concluded with lines from a poem by Minnie Louis Haskens (1875-1957). The poem is called "The Gate of the Year" or "God Knows."

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”  And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”  So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.  So heart be still: What need our little life, Our human life to know,  If God hath comprehension?  In all the dizzy strife  Of things both high and low, God hideth His intention..........................................So, heart, be still! 

King George finished his speech with this prayer:  

                                  “May that Almighty Hand guide and uphold us all.”

For me 2014 brought a tremendous shakeup of exchanging worlds--moving from St. Louis, MO where I had lived for 19 years to Doha, Qatar.  I would never have suspected or imagined such a radical swap last January; the move was sudden, but imperceptibly prepared for. I was ready, but did not know it.  I was fortunate to have a dim spark, a firefly of light in the darkness, to try to perceive if this was the right door to open. I decided to follow that firefly to an unknown path.

But this year if I met "the man who stood at the gate of the year," I think I would tell him that dimness is acceptable, even comforting, if I know that God's hand is in mine.  I have tried climbing a few peaks in the dark before (especially dealing with my son's autism), and know that God gives us the most radiant, illuminating panoramic views when we get to the top--if we trust his navigation for us. This year I believe, even more than I did last year, I want to trust in His change for me. He alone knows which exquisite, magnificent door I need to open this year.  

A gate where you have to bend to enter at the Sheik Faisal Museum in Doha, Qatar

Doors in Qatar at the Souq Waqif--a marketplace here in Doha.  They are highly ornamental here with glass and beautiful carvings.

My lovely door in my old home that I painted several times.  Sometimes I miss its cozy familiarity, but I guess I had to traverse some other passageways.

I have had much tutoring when I decided to open this door to my new home.

I bought this old, whimsical door (about four feet high) in the marketplace in Doha to hang on my wall.  I wanted to lug home the Egyptian door, but I thought this one would suffice.  Ha!  It is a daily reminder to not be too fearful of opening new doors, even if  dawn has not appeared on the horizon yet.

An Event of Rare Extraordinaire!

Since the Cardinals won the World Series in 2011, our family wore festive Santa hats to the ice skating party to celebrate our team.

One of our favorite family traditions has been to always give a holiday party, but our house, after a few years, became too small for all the people whom we held dear. Also, all of our Muslim, Jewish, and Hindu friends understandably did not want to sing Christmas carols merrily around the fire with us. My magnanimous, generous husband conceived a brilliant idea: rent the local ice skating rink, order donuts (40 dozen to be exact), and bring gallons of piping hot chocolate. 

Our philosophy was to invite everyone from every niche of our life--neighborhood, school, church, workplace, and anybody who was happening to be visiting.... It was definitely a bit of a sociological experiment to mix every age, socio-economic, educational, and religious background together, but the result for the next 17-18 years was nothing less than magical. It became an anticipated highlight of the season.

                           

                Circa 2010 Broom Ball Game at ice skating party--at least part of the team.

Friendships and strong bonds were formed with our network of friends because they always saw each other at the same party every year. It always made me chuckle because I would see our friends (who did not know each other the first couple of years of going to the party) begin to catch up with each other in proceeding years. After going to the same holiday party for almost two decades, they created a bond of their own. Reunions naturally occurred because all the college kids wanted to connect with each other. Some people who had moved away came to the ice skating party because they knew they could intersect with old friends.

Last year Sarah celebrating time together with friends in St. Louis.

After a few years, we started a broom ball competition.  Everyone who wanted to play would bring a broom, and they would swish around a soccer ball like an ice hockey game. The ice rink manager would let us put up the ice hockey nets, and the kids would have a blast for an hour before everyone launched on the ice.  Sometimes there would be about 20 people on each team.

Circa 2005  If you look closely in the pictures, you can see some of these kids grow up.

Last year in Missouri, never imagining we would have our party next year in Qatar.

Sometimes there would be homeless people from a local shelter who would come, and they would skate past a CEO of a large company. We liked to think that everybody, even for a few hours, could skate on the same ice. Some friends could barely hold onto the rail without falling, and others jumped, glided, and bolted past with swift glee. I guess you could say I watched a generation of kids learn to skate, even race with fierce abandonment--sometimes as snowflakes fluttered in the air and even one year with drenching rain. Holiday music would blast from the speakers as a fire warmed another crowd of people who just preferred to watch the festive cheer. Depending on the year, there would be a guitar or a harmonica to entertain them.

This year I wrote a friend in St Louis, and told her we lived in Doha, Qatar now, and she would have to come across the world for our party (the party does go on, after all).  She replied--telling me her breast cancer had returned, and that she couldn't skate this year. Her wish was to come and walk around the rink instead.... In my mind I have an indelible image of her:  she was unquestionably always, every year, the first one to come skate on the shiny ice.  She loved having the smooth, tranquil ice all to herself before the crowd came. I have a prayer in my heart for her renewal of health, but her yearly appearance as the first one to skate always demonstrated to me her commitment to living with exuberance and zest.

Today after the debut of our holiday party in Doha, I was again cheered, heartened, as I always am after our seasonal party. We used the time-tested strategy of inviting all of our friends (in every pocket of our life) to come to an ice skating rink--with groups from school, the compound, my orchestra, from work and church--even a few people whom I did not know.

To watch everyone, strangers an hour before, push each other's children on the ice supports, grab an elbow of someone who didn't know how to skate, help lace up a child's skate who one has never met, and wish another best wishes for the new year are the magic that never fails to happen. Somehow this tradition has given me a gift--to unequivocally know that friendship, love, and compassion can descend on a single, unlikely place with complete strangers.   Whether they come from near and far, or have different socio-economic, educational, and religious backgrounds, it mattereth not. Indeed, there can be peace on earth and goodwill toward men.  This party always gives me belief, if it ever dwindled during the year.

Joseph pushing a coworker and his kids on the ice.  For many expats, it was their first time to hit the ice.

It is an affirming feeling to know that although we have moved across the world, we have new friends whom we did not know only a few months ago. I heard that some old friends had continued our tradition in St. Louis, not being able to let go of the magic that never failed to appear at that holiday ice skating party. Every year we come home with our empty thermoses of hot chocolate, whether it was in St. Louis, MO, or now Doha, Qatar, we think of the image in It's a Wonderful Life. It is the part at the end of the movie when George Bailey sees that he has unexpected friendships, and they are far more numerous than he ever imagined. That is just how I feel tonight.

Notice the painted sky overhead as we skate in a mall in Doha.  No bonfire, but still Krispie Kremes, as shown below:

A. preparing for the party in Doha this year with the first installment of donuts.

Little J. enjoying a skate and a donut.

At the end of our ice skating party in Doha.

Don't you love the 'Flying Camels' logo?  So very fitting in Qatar!

Lessons Learned:  
1)  Cherished traditions can continue--even across the world.  

2)  Everyone loves (and is able) to skate on the same ice.
3)  If you have to leave your post, others can carry on the tradition for you--especially if it was a very magical one.