Christmas in Vernal

I mentioned in my last post that every Christmas of my childhood was spent in Vernal. My family lived in Northern California – in fact, my parents still do. So, what that meant was every year, right when school let out for Winter Break, we'd get packed up, and load all 10 of us into the van and drive to Utah. It was what we did. Christmas wasn't Christmas, unless it was at Grandma Hedy's. My lovely (and very German) grandma's name is Hedwig. Yep, like the owl in Harry Potter.

I'm not sure if I loved spending Christmas at Grandma Hedy's house as a child. I'm not sure if I really thought too much about it, for the simple reason that it was just what we did. Every year. I am sure, though, that looking back, I LOVE the memories that I have of all the Christmases that we got to spend at Grandma Hedy's house. Everything about our Christmases then have helped shape what I think Christmas is now. Every tradition that I have originated with the patchwork of so many Christmases spent in Vernal. Some favorites:

We had our big, Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. We would all gather around the big table – using Grandpa Harlend's big massage table as a bench that ran the entire length of one side of the table; the smaller kids had to sit on it because it was just a little too high and didn't leave much leg room between the bottom of the table and the top of the (massage) table. Lots of cousins and aunts and uncles would join our already substantial group, so we usually had at least one card table (if not two or three) set up for the littlest kids to sit at. (I still remember the excitement I felt when I first was allowed to sit at the “grown up table”.) The greatest thing about having the big dinner on Christmas Eve? No one had to be trapped in the kitchen on Christmas – we would just eat leftovers on Christmas, and not have to worry about anything except playing with our new toys and being together.

(Hedy and Harlend, in front of the Christmas tree - circa 1981?)

After our big dinner was eaten and the dishes done and the food put away, we'd gather in Grandma's Living Room, where the soft, inviting lights of the Christmas tree would serve as mini hypnotizing beacons while my Dad would read the second chapter of Luke. And then we'd usually sing some Christmas carols and hymns.

(clockwise, from top left: Danny, Hedy, Mark, Matt, Mom, Dawnette, Dwight, Me, and Megan... this must've been around 1984 or 1985, Jamie is missing so I'm guessing this was when he was on his mission.)

After that little program, we were each allowed to open one gift. And the gift that we were allowed to open was a gift from Grandma Hedy. The contents of the gift were the same every year: hand-made pajamas. Yep, my sweet little (she was only 4'11”) Grandma would slave over I don't know how many pjs every year so that we'd have Christmas pajamas to sleep in on Christmas Eve. She did that every year my whole childhood. I still remember feeling a little confused as a 13 year old when I opened my Christmas pjs from grandma to find that they had been store bought that year! But they were still Christmas Eve pjs from my Grandma, and that is what made them special. I love this tradition – we'd unwrap them and then immediately change into them to go to sleep!

But first!

We'd carefully select where to hang our stockings... usually on the backs of chairs, or a random nail, or a door knob. It had to be somewhere close, and somewhere you could see from where you chose to sleep – so that in the morning when you woke up (way earlier than normal, by the way) you'd be able to spot the bulging sock and start to day dream about what goodies and treats it might contain.

This one might be kind of weird but another thing I loved about Christmases at Grandma Hedy's was the sleeping arrangements. Grandma didn't live in a huge house. There was one bedroom on the main floor (which was Grandma's) and then two bedrooms upstairs. The “boy's room” and the “girl's room” - my parents always slept in the girl's room which had one Queen sized bed. And my older siblings usually camped out in the boy's room which had two Full sized beds. That meant that the youngest of us (me included) would sleep in the Living Room on the various chairs and corners on the floor. My sister, Megan, and I always shared my Grandma's long couch – each of our head's would be on the arms of the couch, while our feet/legs would overlap somewhere in the middle. That couch was a soft, sort of velvet material – with big orange flowers, and it was so cozy to be snuggled on it beneath the soft glow of the Christmas tree.

(On the famous couch - Hedy, Megan, Cousin Joe, Me; Dawnette and JB in the foreground.)

Speaking of stockings... another tradition that I love. The rule was that stockings were free game once you woke up. We were free to dig right in to the stockings whenever we got up – but we had to wait for everyone else to wake up to open the other presents under the tree. It felt like such a nice balance! We could sate some of our Christmas excitement and greed with the presents contained in our stocking, but we were forced to be patient enough so the adults didn't have to be dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn. Plus, it was neat to try to open our stockings v e r y s l o w l y to make it last as long as possible while everyone else was still asleep. I remember so many Christmas mornings waking up, spying my bulging stocking a few feet away, crawling out of our little couch-bed, grabbing the stocking, bringing it back, getting under the covers, and then just sitting with it on my lap until more of my siblings woke up. (Which was never too long of a wait.) And then they'd get their's too, and we'd start to open them in our own spots, but together, at the same time. I also loved our childhood stockings – they were handmade with our names sewn at the top and then they had little felt pictures of things that we were interested in. My sister Dawnette had ballet slippers on hers, among other things. Each of my brothers had a soccer ball on theirs. Mine had a picture of a teddy bear and a book. Go figure.

(I wonder where my old stocking is. Mom? Dad? Do you know? Have you seen it?)

Then, once the adults came to the Living Room, someone would be the present gofer and deliver a present to everyone, we'd hold them on our lap and wait while we'd each open one at a time and show everyone what we got. And Grandma Hedy would always have the most gifts – presents from all of her children, grandchildren, friends, and neighbors. Which is how it should be.

After all the gifts had been opened, there was always one saved for last. We called it the “Tree Gift” because my dad would hide a small gift somewhere in the Christmas tree for my mom. Like our Christmas Eve gift, we always knew what was in the Tree Gift: a hand-made nutcracker. Every year in the weeks/days/hours leading up to Christmas, my dad would somehow find time to sneak away and hand carve/sculpt/construct a nutcracker for my mom. This tradition is as old as I am – I think the very first one was given on Christmas 1980. Somewhere around there anyway – it might have been 1979 or maybe even 1981, but you get the idea. And he still does it. Every year, without fail. What makes them especially great is that the figure is always different, and it usually corresponds to some major event that happened that year – for example: all of my siblings (and twice for my parents) have served missions, so there are nutcrackers that are inspired by Alaska, Mississippi, Hawaii, Argentina, Belgium, Canada, Italy, Michigan, and Australia. They are truly amazing. It was always so much fun to see what he came up with for that year. My mom would sometimes have us all guess what we thought it would be before she opened it.

(Dad and Mom embrace after Mom opened her Hawaiian Surfer Girl Nutcracker.)

After all the gifts were opened and the wrapping paper mess cleaned up....

(Me and Grandma watch as Mom inspects the Argentine Gaucho... amid some of the wrapping paper mess.)

My mom and Grandma would adjourn to the kitchen to make bread pudding for breakfast. Oh man. Their bread pudding is out of this world. Not a sweet, dessert-style bread pudding, but a delicious, savory bread pudding. Just simple ingredients without a lot of crazy add ins. So good. My Grandma would always slice a bunch of oranges to accompany the bread pudding. I think it's because of her that that's my favorite way to eat oranges.

I love all of my memories of Christmas at Grandma Hedy's. Even if it was in Vernal! Everything about them just fit.

(Standing in front of Grandma Hedy's Sister's house - they lived across the street from each other. Clockwise from top left: mom, Jamie, Dawnette, Matt, Danny, Me, Hedy, Megan, Mark, Dwight, and Aunt Pau.)

My Grandma died almost 11 years ago. My world has been a little less lovely because of that, and definitely less sassy. She was so full of life and spunk and spirit. Some of the things she said – so blunt and to the point without a hint of embarrassment – would make your mouth drop open in shock. But it was always, always followed by a smile and a chuckle. She was a beautiful person. And Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas without her.

(Me and Hedy at her house... circa 1996.)

My one consolation is the wonderful memories... and the great traditions that I've continued with my own family. I am so glad that my mom insisted that we spend every Christmas in Vernal – I'm sure it was beyond difficult to load up 8 wiggling, fighting, stinky, bratty kids into one van to make the 13 hour, straight through, no stopping, trek. But my parents did it – every year – because they knew then what I know now – Christmas in Vernal as a family is pretty fantastic; it's just not the same anywhere else.

(Thanks Grandma Hedy, for all the wonderful memories! I miss you most as Christmas time.

And thanks, mom and dad, for making them possible!)