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About 11 years ago, I realized that I needed a ritual to mark my own birthday. I decided that — no matter the weather — I would go to Walden Pond in Concord, Mass., and swim into the clear, cool water. In many ways my birthday swim is the secular equivalent of my own private mikvah: cleansing, purifying. I’m washing away what was, leaving me fresh to begin another year. — Sue Kelman, Waltham, Mass.
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My dad always beeped the car horn when we drove under a moving train. I have no idea why. I continue this ritual and always feel like I’m saying, “Hi, Dad.” — B.J. Leber, Pittsburgh
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When my daughter was a child, I began serving pizza for dinner the day before Passover. I began the custom because I had cleaned the kitchen for Passover. It became known as the P.P.P.O., the “Pre-Passover Pig Out.” Now my three grandchildren look forward to it. — Helene Polonsky, New York
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I used to travel on business. I would take a small trowel, dig up some dirt, then put it into a baggie. White sand, red sand, black sand — gravelly, smooth as talcum powder, even shale. In a big glass jar, it is layered. It is quite beautiful. I still add to my dirt collection. — Kathy Swift, Framingham, Mass.
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My boys, now almost 21 and 18, still go to the same Santa, at the same mall, to sit for a picture. It’s such a joy to see them in line. At 6’ 9” and 6’ 4,” they tower over toddlers and crying babies. — Kiki Vargas, Olney, Md.
