lately i’ve been thinking a lot about tradition. about family and gatherings and the desire to re-establish some of what once was.

i grew up in a small immediate family but in a very large extended family. my mom and her 5 siblings lived in and around the same area (except for one long island branch, who we still saw often) and there were lots of cousins, aunts and uncles. and our own family lives pulled us in dozens of different directions – that is until we met up at the hill.

this is the hill.

(courtesy of realtor.com – yes, it’s for sale. if only i had $344,900. oh, and lived in new hampshire)

it’s the home my grandparent’s bought and moved their family of 5 into in the early 1960’s. leaving new jersey behind, in a station wagon packed with 5 kids, 2 adults and two cats (one of which-the pregnant one- escaped somewhere around hartford) left new jersey and headed north to new hampshire to start a business; a new life.

and from 1981 to 1995 it was also my life.

my rendering of this special place is my own. it may differ from my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my mom. but, for me, the hill was the epitome of family. it was the gathering place for birthdays, holidays and pool-side bbq’s. it was the place my cousin alex and i played forts and spied through the grates at our family below. shot rubber bands from home-made rubber band guns – hey, it was the ’80’s -  scaled the laundry shoot and hid in the lazy susan. i have a repetitive dream with images from the wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom. and the blue shag carpet in the closet that my cousin locked me in one day (until i screamed bloody murder and was set free by some cousinly paserby).

it’s the home of tropicana hannah – the song my grandfather wrote and performed with his trumpet for an eager and proud family. with the ultimate easter egg hiding stone walls and fire work settting off back deck.

it was in this room that we spent each christmas – a group of 30+ scattered among couches and chairs and the floor opening, one by one and in order of age, our presents.  i can remember the smell and the sounds of our laughter as if it were last week.

this fireplace, the place my mom and her siblings hid their old shoes – in hopes of tricking my grandmother into buying them new ones. i found several pair one day in the side ovens,  dusty, covered in soot and smelling of fire. my grandmother was shocked and baffled. those tricky little children.

and over the years much has changed. the hill is no longer ours. my grandmother, and the backbone of our family, is no longer with us. my cousins and i grew up and moved away. many of us busy with our own little ones and the daily life that seems to speed along faster and faster with each passing month.

we are fortunate to see each other on holidays and for the occasional dinner or birthday party but often, for me, these times seem too rushed and too surface and too…not like they used to.

and really i can’t help but wonder if my memories don’t depict reality – that maybe they are just the remnants of a young care-free girl, barefoot and giggling, running with knotted hair and black-bottomed feet. and i know that even if i could re-create those days now – the house, the people, it would be different. that era has ended.

i don’t want to be debbie downer;  even without the hill i am fortunate to share my life with the people i do. i have been blessed with a family of wonderful, kind, good people. this, i’m sure, is why i chose them. and really, i think, i miss them. i miss knowing them on the level i used to. i miss sharing daily nuances, birthday’s, bbq days, whatever days; you know, the kind where you kick back, open up and are real.  

and now that i have children of my own i am  desperate for their creation of similar memories. i want them hanging by their undies from the door frame in the ultimate wedgie from uncle dan. i want them picking blackberries in the bushes around the pool at the edge of the woods. i want them running through a house full of people, out a metal screen door and onto a porch worn from years of bare feet and bottoms;  the simple grandeur that was life on the hill.

i know, and have known for a while now that this won’t change without effort. and without the desire and passion of the next generations. i know my desire runs deep and burns fiercely. i am too proud of where i come from to let it slip away.

so, this is my goal -along with humpteen others -  this year.

my hope is that soon i’ll be sitting amongst the chaos of children, the buzz of voices eager to share, listen and laugh. and it will hit me, out of the blue, that i am there. in the new era of family traditions, overloaded with the faces i love, the embraces i have felt for a lifetime.

when i get there, i’ll let you know. it’s going to be fabulous.

in the meantime, if you’re reading this and have an extra $300 grand laying around, there’s this house atop a big hill i’d love to buy.