There was a time when I thought a tradition was something that happened exactly the same way every year with exactly the same people—and that "tradition" was an absolute must for a successful holiday. For instance, I used to say: "Every year, we have Thanksgiving at my house, and I cook a turkey, and we have a house full of relatives."

It was always at my house—probably so that I could control every aspect of the gathering. I don't know what I thought would happen if we didn't serve turkey and lots of relatives didn't show up. I just knew it wouldn't be right.

And then some of the crowd that used to gather at my house divorced or moved away or died.

This Thanksgiving, my son had dinner with his girlfriend's family, so there were just four of us at my table—my husband, my brother-in-law, my mother and me. And it was just fine.

On our way over to spend some time in downtown Los Gatos the next day, we noticed cars returning from the Christmas tree farms in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Our family took that pilgrimage once when our son was growing up.

Frankly, though, it was cold and wet and the long lines winding up the road were a pain, so we decided going to a local Christmas tree lot was a good enough tradition.

In my mind, the worst violation of holiday tradition happened when I came home for my first Christmas after going away to college. There's nothing like the homesickness that sweeps over a college freshman when the holiday season arrives. By the time I actually arrived at home, I had conjured up the aroma of baking cookies as I swung open the door to a towering Christmas tree decked out in familiar lights and ornaments.

What greeted me, in fact, was a pathetic little aluminum tree alternately reflecting shades of red and green and blue from a light shone through rotating colored cellophane. It was hideous. It was a betrayal of all things traditional.

I realized later—decades later—that since my mother worked at the post office, Christmas was probably not her favorite holiday. The fact is that I had been decorating our Christmas tree for years. She was just too tired by the time she got home. That may be when I first started getting the idea that I was in charge of everyone's holiday experience.

On the other hand, my mother has always marched to the beat of her own drum. I think she actually liked that dumb tree. She was the one who always wanted to cook something other than turkey for Thanksgiving and Christmas. When I became an adult, she started lobbying for Christmas in Hawaii—perish the thought!

I was too busy being traditional. There was the time shortly after I got married, for instance, that I invited my grandparents to a real old-fashioned Christmas tree decorating party just like they had enjoyed as kids.

The first hint that this exercise in nostalgia wasn't going to produce the desired result was when I handed my grandfather a needle and thread and set a bowl of popcorn in front of him. He looked befuddled.

My grandmother had a bowl of cranberries in front of her and when I handed her the threaded needle, she asked: "How do you do this?"

I laughed. "I thought you guys could show me," I said.

"I've never done this before in my life," my grandmother said, looking at me as if I must have a screw loose.

"Why don't we just eat the popcorn?" my grandfather said.

Somehow, we got our old-fashioned tree trimmed, but like the trek through the woods to chop down a tree, it was another short-lived tradition.

A couple of weeks ago, I invited my mother and my son over for a tree decorating party. I put Vince Gueraldi's "Charlie Brown Christmas" on the CD player and heated up apple cider with cloves and cinnamon sticks—two traditions I will never let die—and then we dragged in the artificial Christmas tree in from the garage.

It took two hours to assemble the 9-foot tree, and my mother got into the spirit of the season by helping open up folded branches. She said she was glad I finally realized the value of artificial trees.

My son, who had given me a surprised look when we first bought the tree, really got into the decorating while, for the first time, I sat back and enjoyed feeling that I wasn't responsible for everyone's happiness. "Wow," my son said. "You can hang anything you want on this tree and the branches don't bend down."

"And if you don't like the way the branch looks, you can bend it the other way," I reminded him.

My mother didn't say a word. She didn't have to.

As for my traditional walk on New Year's Day, I will be with a group of people, some of whom I've known for 30 years. We have memories of experiences we shared in the past when our children were growing up, and we have memories of friends who have divorced or moved away or who have died. And as we walk along the trail, along with many neighbors and their dogs and their kids and their new in-line skates and bicycles, we'll feel the warmth that sharing a tradition brings, even if the tradition isn't very old.

Dale Bryant is the executive editor of Silicon Valley Community Newspapers, which publishes The Sun. She can be reached at 408.200.1021 or dbryant@svcn.com.