Old traditions

The children have all grown, had kids, moved too far away to visit.
The same friends call at Christmas, as they have for 25 years.
A little slower, a little frailer, a little more sallow
But everyone pretends not to notice.

Some say they can't drink, they're driving,
An excuse that would have never been heard 25 years ago.
A few still light cigarettes, but are now quickly chased outside.

The host still dresses as the naked crossword puzzle,
shimmying and dancing,
The clues have long been lost but everyone remembers the answers,
Or at least most of them do. 

As she fills in the letters, and the crossword dress slowly comes off,
Not as many eyes are sparkling,
Not as many tongues are wet.

Dinner is served with the same flair,
On 25 year old china, from a 25 year old hostess,
But now it is made with skim milk and margarine and salt replacement
Trying to make up for the excesses of the past.

The wine makes up for it,
A vintage they could have never afforded in their youth,
Which they pay dearly for today,
For someone else to cellar it for all these years.

After dinner Dad brings out his cherished vinyl collection.
An unused ipod sits nearby,
a gift from a child several Christmases ago.
Nobody knows how to use it.

The records are dusted and the stylus is delicately placed in the groove.
No one would have done that 25 years ago.
The strains of Sinatra pour out, no longer the freedom and excitement of youth,
Now laden heavy with time and memories and auld lang syne.

Yet people still dance under the mistletoe
And around the tree, and sit in front of the fire
To listen to stories, both old and new. 

People start to leave, much earlier than they did before.

These are the traditions people need
To remind themselves they are still here
And that there is more to come.
Even if they are completely changed, somehow they remain exactly the same.