Why of all the cultural and literary references of the mid-1970s was it "Have a popover, Froggy?" that stuck with Mom? Why was it so super-duper important to Dad not to eat dinner before 7? Why did the Rosenfelds not really celebrate birthdays? Why did the Arkushes always pronounce vulgar as "wulgar"? When did the Gleesons start singing their skol song, and did they plan for it to become an institution?
I like how all of these little ways become artifacts for everyday use, like heirloom china that can't be chipped. But mainly I just like them, in the same way I like old furniture, books annotated by other people, and words with very specific and limited meanings, like petrichor and oxter; often, when Henry finds an interesting object--a speckled rock, say, or a broken mechanical gewgaw--he holds it up and cries triumphantly "Aha! A clue!" which is close to how I feel about these things, although I don't know what mystery is to be solved.
In our family, we seem to have developed a gnome tradition. I guess I married into it; it can be traced to Peter's mother, who called him a zwergl when he was small, and to Susan, who had given Peter several garden gnomes. Being both small and odd, Peter naturally draws comparisons himself, and the children are only smaller and odder, as well as constantly pursuing such gnomish work as digging and delving. When Peter built the kitchen cabinets, he filled in an odd space with a gnome niche, and I have contributed with a series of pointy knitted hats over several years. I didn't put it all together, however, until a couple of weeks ago, when Henry and James decided to assemble all the scattered garden gnomes in the kitchen. There are four, which gave rise to a lively discussion about which one represented which member of the family. After arranging and rearranging, naming and renaming them for a spell, James did a little flat-footed dance around the grouping and cried out, "It's Gnome Time!"
Which is, obviously, pretty much our new family motto.
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