Christmas Memories

by Margie Senechal

Welcome to the Wranglers’ Holiday Party. It’s my day to chime in, a little late as usual, but here I am. Last Monday, Nan kicked us off with her favorite holiday traditions and how they were incorporating the Icelandic tradition of gifting books on Christmas Eve and snuggling in to read them with cocoa.

When I was seven, my dad was stationed in Iceland and I spent two Christmas’s. I still have the two books I received on my Christmas Eve. Living on base in a foreign country proved to be a great thing at Christmas as we incorporated traditions from both countries into our celebrations. 

Besides getting a book on Christmas Eve, we also got visits from the Yule lads—13 Icelandic scamps who visited our houses the nights before Christmas leaving treats (a piece of chocolate or a Kronur) in our shoe which was in our bedroom window. The first year we were there—1969—the NCO club held a Christmas party for the families where Santa gave us all a gift. I got a wiggly bee pen. In 1970, Santa made house visits around the base and my best friend, Chris, stayed the night at our house. 

The following year we came back stateside settling in my mother’s hometown of Vancouver, Washington sandwiched in-between my maternal grandparents and great-great aunt Marge. My great-grandfather lived downtown with my great-uncle. And another great aunt and uncle lived within a couple of miles. 

It was probably my first time having to deal with relatives as I’d spent the first nine years of my life living away from any relatives, and living far enough away that visits were infrequent, at best. Christmas Eve was spent down at Grandma and Grandpa’s where the in-town relatives showed up for gift exchange and ham dinner. Then Dad would prepare a turkey dinner with all the fixings for Christmas. 

After I married, the Christmas Eve tradition continued. It was about this time that my mom thought she could do away with Stockings. After all, we were mostly adults—just Wendy remained at home and she was in high school. We—my two sisters and I—collectively threw temper tantrum protest. “Stockings are our favorite part!” So, thus, our stocking exchange was born. 

The first couple of years it was my parents, sisters, husband, and my uncle. We’d draw names in the spring or summer and had a $50 minimum. When the grandparents were still alive, we rushed through dinner to escape up home with my parents to pass out our stockings. 

 When my girls came along, we all donated a gift to their Christmas Eve stocking. But, as they grew older, their names were added into the pot, as were my nephews. And now, there’s Daniel, our adopted family member, John, my sister’s fiancé, and Bud, Mom’s boyfriend. On Christmas eve, we’ll have a bit of a potluck at Mom’s and gather together to open our stockings one by one. It is without question the highlight of our Christmas season. I may or may not get a book for Christmas but that’s okay, because I’ll still find one to read before I head to bed that night.

For my gift to a lucky winner, I'll be sending you a copy of my only published story in last year's Once Upon a Bookclub's 12 Days of Book-Club-Mas book, an ornament, and another goody or two. 

SO, don't forget to click on the Rafflecopter link.  http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/53fc70b81/

Merriest of Christmas' to all.