We started a new tradition last year. In January 2020. You know “that” year. The little goblin. The stinker. Someone got it in their head that it would be a good idea for our family to chronicle each week’s “highlights.” Seemed like a good year to launch it, back when things first got started in 2020. So full of promise. A big, bright horizon ahead. Lots to look forward to and record for posterity.
And it probably would have been a good idea … ANY OTHER YEAR!
Each Sunday we would gather around the table for dinner – mother father and daughter jotting down our favorite memories, highlights or pretty much anything worth mentioning from the previous week. We would write them on a piece of paper, fold it up and put it in a glass jelly jar. The idea was this: a year later, on New Year’s Eve, we would open up the jar and as a family, read through all the little highlights. Remember all that had transpired in the passing year.
A jar full of remembrances. A 2020 time capsule.
What a great idea! Cue sound of blowing raspberry.
Of all the years.
But we did it. Not all year. There were huge gaps – whole weeks, and even months missing. A little spotty, but the jar filled nonetheless.
And on New Year’s Eve, while sitting around a rosemary and garlic pork loin, we started pulling them out, in no particular order. One-by-one we took turns reading them.
At first, no one was terribly excited about it. It had that “going to the dentist feel.” Like when there’s a tooth aching in the back of your mouth, and by the swelling in your face, you just know they are going to need the kind of machinery that construction workers use to tear up concrete highways.
Re-live 2020? I’ll take the root canal, thank you.
Why invite pain and misery? Why trudge back through that morass of bad memories?
Only, it turned out that the jar causing so much trepidation was actually chock-full of great memories, both big and small.
How could that be?
Small stuff, like in January, when lazy days in bed with the dog and Disney+ made the grade. Or a now-unthinkable 8th grade trip to Washington D.C., when students crowded together on buses and hotel rooms and museums. By the look of the notes, it was an unforgettable adventure.
Or in February, when accidentally shooting a nephew in the nose with a Nerf gun’s foam bullet was a highlight. (Yeah, I guess that was pretty irresponsible of me.) There were tennis lessons and hanging out with friends. Cat shows and going out to lunch after shopping at Nordstrom’s. Even a highlight from my wife in early March that simply said, “Watching bad TV with Amelie.”
April’s highlights started getting interesting. Commentary ran across the top mentioning things like, “Week 3 of social distancing” or “Just finished week 4 of Florida’s Safer at Home.” There was my mention of the odd, almost surreal feeling of wearing a mask for the first time at the grocery store.
But they couldn’t drown-out the mentions of bike rides and long strolls on the beach.
I had one that read: “Nightly walks with my wife on the bayfront. Oh wait! When I saw a manatee on the bayfront. I’ve been waiting for that exact moment!”
Kayak trips. Hiking in North Carolina. Watching sunrises. Reading books. Baking cookies. Often simple things. Almost mundane. The kinds of things that didn’t used to be memorable, or remembered. In “better” years, easily forgotten or even overlooked. Everyday stuff.
But in 2020, it was made special, and finally appreciated for what it was: The little things in life that make us smile.
Yeah! I said it, “smile.” All highlights.
Stinker that you were 2020, turns out you couldn’t mess it all up. You left lots of little nooks and crannies for us to cram nuggets of joy and happiness. Great memories in a glass jelly jar. And you also turned out to be the perfect time to start a new tradition that was all about helping us remember the upsides of a year that most of us would quickly trade for a root canal.