Happy Guy Fawkes Day, friends.
Tonight, Doug and Danette hosted a thank-you barbecue for the folks who helped out at the Holiday Programme. This get-together happened to coincide with Guy Fawkes day, a celebration of the day this guy, Guy, tried to blow up the parliament (at least, according to the few people who tried to explain it to me).
Kiwis celebrate Guy Fawkes day with fireworks. I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the universal code for holidays is that if they aren't big enough to celebrate with a ton of food or fireworks, they aren't big enough of a deal.
The strange thing is, as I watched a bunch of the youths light the fireworks on the Beisleys' front porch, my mind drifted back to Fourth of July in St Helen's. I know I'm not a US citizen, but there's just something about how things become a tradition that transcends nationality or political boundaries. Kinda like how I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving with the American community here, or how the Chinese New Year steamboat reunion dinners became a tradition with the Chinese community in Anderson.
I've had a few interesting conversations recently about roots and what those mean. A big part of my story comes from having deep roots in many places, and having the permission to celebrate the traditions that come with those roots. As much as I try not to stick out in the dominant culture every time I move to a new place, I'm still not much of a conformist. Truth is, there are some things about tradition that I'm uber nerdy about.
Like, if I could go back in time, I would have convinced my dad to work with me more on my Chinese calligraphy, even if my siblings weren't interested.
Or contextualizing the Eucharist to today's society. Unleavened bread and wine? How 'bout pita bread and olive oil? (Thank you, Ralf Schwarz)
Or learning the proper native way to pronounce words in every new language/dialect I learn (I'm still working on the Kiwi English. Give it some time.)
Point being, I'm noticing again how much beauty I find in tradition. Sure, go ahead and be skeptical or cynical about everything we can possibly be skeptical or cynical about. But there still is a lot of beauty in tradition, if we can dig through all the cynicism to find it.
Happy Guy Fawkes Day, y'all. I don't know that this will become tradition in my story, but who's to say no?
Tonight, Doug and Danette hosted a thank-you barbecue for the folks who helped out at the Holiday Programme. This get-together happened to coincide with Guy Fawkes day, a celebration of the day this guy, Guy, tried to blow up the parliament (at least, according to the few people who tried to explain it to me).
Kiwis celebrate Guy Fawkes day with fireworks. I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the universal code for holidays is that if they aren't big enough to celebrate with a ton of food or fireworks, they aren't big enough of a deal.
The strange thing is, as I watched a bunch of the youths light the fireworks on the Beisleys' front porch, my mind drifted back to Fourth of July in St Helen's. I know I'm not a US citizen, but there's just something about how things become a tradition that transcends nationality or political boundaries. Kinda like how I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving with the American community here, or how the Chinese New Year steamboat reunion dinners became a tradition with the Chinese community in Anderson.
I've had a few interesting conversations recently about roots and what those mean. A big part of my story comes from having deep roots in many places, and having the permission to celebrate the traditions that come with those roots. As much as I try not to stick out in the dominant culture every time I move to a new place, I'm still not much of a conformist. Truth is, there are some things about tradition that I'm uber nerdy about.
Like, if I could go back in time, I would have convinced my dad to work with me more on my Chinese calligraphy, even if my siblings weren't interested.
Or contextualizing the Eucharist to today's society. Unleavened bread and wine? How 'bout pita bread and olive oil? (Thank you, Ralf Schwarz)
Or learning the proper native way to pronounce words in every new language/dialect I learn (I'm still working on the Kiwi English. Give it some time.)
Point being, I'm noticing again how much beauty I find in tradition. Sure, go ahead and be skeptical or cynical about everything we can possibly be skeptical or cynical about. But there still is a lot of beauty in tradition, if we can dig through all the cynicism to find it.
Happy Guy Fawkes Day, y'all. I don't know that this will become tradition in my story, but who's to say no?
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