Christmas is over, along with two months of holiday classics, fantastical lawn decorations, and gingerbread goodness. So too the revelry of New Year’s Eve. Hot on the heels of the new year, thoughts of the passage of time are natural. Rituals, traditions, even the very rate of change parade under the microscope of a brand new year.

The occasion is full of hope and promise. It is also rich with the fulfillment of pathways traveled and truths to be pondered in the here and now. Truths about how to make our bodies and minds better, for instance. As individuals, we turn these revelations into resolutions, using the impetus of a fresh calendar to spur self improvement.

This is also the high season for community spirit. Outward symbols of tradition that link generations, such as ethnic foods and gift-giving practices, offer a comforting sense that time doesn’t alter the good things in life after all. Celebrations that follow the calendar suggest continuity, and yet even these rituals change subtly, evolving or even fading away without notice.

One ritual that might be worth resurrecting is the practice of making New Year’s Day calls on friends and neighbors. This bit of revelry, begun by Dutch settlers, continued until Americans tired of it, somewhere around the early 20th century, as indicated in diary and newspaper accounts. The tradition invited men to call on households of their acquaintance, visiting long enough for small talk and brief gossip over treats and punch served by the ladies of the house before riding on to another round of imbibing.

2016 would be quite special for the ladies if we still observed this tradition; in leap years, it was the women who gallivanted about in sleighs and buggies, enjoying potent potables and treats served by the men at home. We know this was done in our own area, for a Fredonia Censor account from Dec. 30, 1851, not only reminds locals of the upcoming prerogative, but also conveys an affectionate tone toward the practice.

Like all practices, this one endured for a long time and then quietly succumbed to the sense that too much of a good thing might herald the need for something else. Along with the merrymaking of the day came a certain amount of “altered consciousness” that wasn’t entirely to some folks’ liking.

Even recent traditions glide into new forms. Those of us of a certain age recall a time when sports seasons were shorter, and perhaps sweeter, than they are today. Soon it will be Super Sunday, a quasi-holiday marked by celebrity shows, ballyhooed commercials, vats of chicken wing dip, and weeks of commentary. Now an early February phenomenon, the game originally took place in mid-January. Before this day of athletic days, the World Series reigned supreme, and much as baseball lovers like me lament its faded glory, evolution in sports is as inevitable as in any other endeavor. After another 50 years of football, will it resemble its present form? Fans need only attend a Canadian football game to recognize a kindred sport with different rules. Is there a common ancestor at some point?

We tend to define “modern” in terms of industrial evolution. But technology may be an elusive yardstick of time. While two centuries of invention have brought an astounding number of patented goods into homes and workplaces, especially compared to the relative industrial languor of preceding millennia, lately the horse seems to be running away at breakneck speed. Not too long ago, the “Internet” was a military tool that would never find a purpose in civilian life; 25 years later, the newest advance in digital technology leapfrogs the preceding one at an ever-quickening pace. Are we just growing older, or is time itself really speeding up? Keeping up with computer technology has become a frenetic endeavor, and we are not all up to it.

I, for one, would love to hire out a horse and buggy next New Year and make some old-fashioned calls.

In the meantime, I might resurrect a tradition practiced by Americans of yore, only to fade away a generation ago: the mid-day meal, or dinner in place of lunch.

Maybe not every day. But definitely on Sunday.

Renee Gravelle is a Dunkirk resident.

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