About the only holiday tradition that my beloved and I have is a dinner with friends. A group of friends get together and go out to dinner sometimes before Christmas and sometimes after, but around the holidays.
Last year we went to Fleur-de-Lys in San Francisco. It was like dining inside a bedouin tent, or at least what I think a bedouin tent would look like. I half expected Lawrence of Arabia to walk in and shake sand out of his boots. It was the most fantastic meal I have ever had.
Last night we went to Greens. While another fantastic San Francisco restaurant, it is not the inside of a bedouin tent. It is in an old building at Fort Mason and looks out over the Golden Gate Bridge. You walk in and are greeted by a huge piece of petrified wood (I think) it just kind of sits there next to the hostess stand. We sat in the back room, you could see Christmas lights on some of the boats in the marina, the lights of the bridge, the darkness of the night outside. Inside the service was wonderful, the food great and the company delightful.
The only thing missing was Door Dyke and Spouse A, who have moved across the country and while not there in person, they are still part of our tradition. It makes me think that tradition does not perhaps mean the same action every year, but the same thought behind the action that creates the tradition. And the thought behind this dinner is love and that does not change no matter how far away you move.