Steeped in Tradition

Posted by danleone on February 25th, 2009 filed in writing

(Me drinking mate. My sister next to me and my grandfather watching)

There is a thread that weaves its way through our days and links us to our past and our past’s pasts. It can be as ethereal as a spider’s web and yet when we stop to take note, it can completely envelope us. Over the last few months, and perhaps few years, I have felt like I walked face-first into that web. It seems every thought connects me to my history which then blooms into quiet reflection and, in the case of my book, moves me into action. I crave the research and love the discovery. Hopefully, I will connect all those dots into a coherent chain of words that other people would love to read.

In the meantime, I have stopped to consider many of the traditions and rituals of my life; once again, with the thought of how that connects me to my past. Many of these things I take for granted. As of late, I no longer want to take those for granted. With my connections to my future firmly established with my three baby goats, I want to be aware of the traditions that pass through me into the lives of my children.

It is funny that I mention the word rituals as I consider myself to be the absolute antithesis of ritualistic. I have written before that I practically seek a non-ritualistic life. But that applies more to the mundane. I don’t order the same food in a restaurant, I don’t wake up at the same time, I don’t “have” to run, write or sleep 8 hours in order for me to feel consistency. Additionally, I have no religion to turn to for maintaining traditions whose reasons are long since forgotten.

So, I don’t consistently put my left shoe on before my right or towel dry my hair before my body, but I have begun looking at the more profound and sacred moments in my life. I am trying to stop and reflect on them and even am willing to discard them if they no longer serve me. But mostly, I meditate on them and have found a corner in my little brain to keep them.

One example, I would like to share with you. It may appear trivial, but it is so “steeped” in tradition, that I just had to write about it.

My mom is from Uruguay, South America. This surprises some people as I always talk about and seem to connect with my Italian side. To some extent, this is true. My mom and dad were married for a very short time before moving to America with the proverbial five dollars in their pocket. Since they lived in The Lake, a predomintately Italian neighborhood, outside of Boston, she was forced to learn Italian rather quickly…while at the same time, learn English. She was also still a teenager without any family in this country so her connections to her culture were severely severed.

We did manage to go a few times to Uruguay as a family when I was growing up. I believe I was around 14 years old the last time I went, so I really do not remember a lot of it. But there are few memories that stick out in my head. One memory that shines is how everyone I knew drank a hearty tea, called Yerba Mate (yeerba matay). It is easy enough to go to Google and figure out exactly what it is. But, in Uruguay, everyone from old to young would drink this tea. You would see bus drivers sipping it and businessmen walking down the street with thermoses under their arms This was not your ordinary tea where you plop a teabag of Liptons into a cup of hot water. No, this was a true ritual, more closely aligned with the Japanese tea ceremony than a simple cup of tea.

My grandfather (abuelito) was every definition of a true gaucho and I remember him sipping the tea using a metal straw called a bombilla. The “cup” is typically a hollowed-out and cured gourd. These can get very fancy and decorative. You can see my collection here:

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2048/1986107844_11a705cdcf_b.jpg

The tea is a loose, green tea with a very earthy aroma and a powerful, grassy flavor. Sincerely, it is not “everyone’s cup of tea.” If every square foot of my grandfather’s house didn’t smell like this tea, I bet I would hate it. The memories of that aroma is what I crave every day. The true beauty of this tea is that it really is meant to be drunk communally. Once the person who poured the mate is done sipping all the water out of the gourd, it is his responsibility to fill it again and pass it to the next person. That person will finish the water, pass it to the host who will refill it and pass it down again to the next drinker. I fully understand if you are wincing at the thought of everyone sipping out of the same straw. In my opinion though, this is what makes mate such a special bonding ritual amongst friends. My reality is that there is no one in this house, or anyone I know, that actually enjoys mate except for me, so I just drink it alone. My son will occasionally have some, but that is because he likes to put forty teaspoons of sugar on anything.

That is why when I wake up early enough (this doesn’t happen EVERY day), usually at four, I will boil a pot of water and make myself some mate. The mate gourd I typically use belonged to my grandfather. It is probably fifty years old or more. It rests in a handmade leather holder, stamped with the words URUGUAY on it.

Here is a closeup:

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2036/1986147464_cec172697e_b.jpg

For the next hour, I sit and read, watch the news, write or think about running and I refill the gourd until the thermos is empty. Every time the I raise it to my mouth, the aroma hits me first and I am transported back to Uruguay, sitting around the fireplace, playing chess with my cousins as my grandfather fills the gourd again.

He is no longer alive and I have no idea if the younger generation in Uruguay still drink the stuff or if it is just a relic of days long over, like Moxie and snuff. But I know I need this tea coursing through my veins to bridge the gap between cultures.

Do YOU have rituals or traditions, that may even seem odd, but you will not let go of?

I am honored that you read my words.