Traditions are the wisdom and rites of days and sages passed, carried on to the present. These traditions feed the roots of young saplings striving to be trees.
When one is blown about by the winds of fortune, or driven by the desolation of misfortune, it can be hard to find native soil; where roots can dig deep for nourishment.
Steinbeck had something to say about that, but then again so did JD Clampett. Same people going to the same place while remaining worlds apart.
We are not, nor have we felt, Californian. Who you are or were means more come the holidays. We were not originally, but we became, Philadelphian. When you are not, or are not where, you want, you feel a little empty.
So then what?
I have read and discussed at some length the ins and outs of assimilation, the tragedy of cultural genocide, and most recently quite a bit about our modern murdering of all that was once good in popular culture. We are now horrible and depraved when once we were honorable and chaste.
Traditionalist versus progressive. Culture wars. War on Christmas. War on rights. All the while I’m just getting used to saying “the” 10 versus “I-95”.
I read a Wall St Journal article decrying the decline of American WASP rule. The author said things were better when the United States had an Anglo Saxon ruling class. Those with this birthright quelled scandal and instilled morals on the masses. Now that class has lost its throne and the world is horrible.
He was right that much of what is normal now is horrible.
But too often the traditionalist forgets what was also horrible back in the good old days.
In the case of Mr. Wall St. Journal what he really meant is not things were better back then but that things were better for HIM back then. Were he a black woman perhaps his article would read a little different.
Then again, any one of us is only what we are. We can’t be what we are not.
So again… When what we were is no more, when we are no longer where we once were and can’t go back, then what?
We kill the WASP!
We throw the tea in the harbor, we march from Selma, we flee the potato famine, we strap Granny in her rocking chair, toss it up on top of the jalopy and head to Californy! You take what can come with you (that is worth taking) and you strike out. You adapt. You be you, but in a new place.