I don't really try to celebrate the holidays since my beloved aunt passed. She had been assigned "the keeper of the faith" role in her family because she was the only female born to her parents. The holidays and traditions meant so much to her. I could really never piece together the calendar, the holidays, nor their meanings. And this was spite of celebrating the holidays formally with my father's family his mother's, my Nanny's home growing up.
I can't explain it.
Chuannaka was an exception.
I recently learned a story about my Nanny, and her family, that I couldn't have imagined in 1,000 years, that was a family secret nobody (not one person) not once (not ever) told me, refered to, hinted at... nothing.
I don't even know if my mother knew it.
It was anything but the easy to follow narrative I was told.
It was as if one version of the American dream was being lived, and one story of the American experience had been filed in a kind of vault.
This was by design of course.
Families.
Maybe one day I will write more about it or talk about it with... anyone.
For time being though not my place.
Daniel, Wondering whether to rest on Saturdays, Sundays, or both