When I was nine-years-old, my parents up and moved my two brothers and I to Germany. My Dad had applied to the Department of a National Defense (DND) and was taking a job as a principal at a Canadian Forces Base school. When I heard the news, I burst into tears because in my nine-year-old logic, this meant we’d have to go skiing in Switzerland - and I really didn’t like skiing. It was, I declared, a disaster.
Ultimately, I came to love living in Germany. Because Dad was a school teacher, summers, spring break and Christmas break were free for travel and we’d all climb into our 1973 VW Camper Van, and head out on all manner of adventures. By the time I was 12, I’d been all over Europe, the United Kingdom and even to Northern Africa. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was leading a charmed life.
I have so many amazing memories from those three years in Germany, but one of my fondest is the Christmas we spent in Les Deux Alpes in France, skiing there and at nearby Grenoble, (I’d eradicated my fear of skiing), skating at the local outdoor rink, and attending Christmas Eve service in a centuries-old stone church while the snow fell outside.
We weren’t supposed to stay there, we’d originally booked a condo in Grenoble but arrived in the middle of a blizzard to find it waist deep in water from a broken water main. My poor mother; three kids, all tired and cranky and no where to stay.
My oldest brother, who was all of 15 at the time, somehow managed to use his broken French to find us a hotel room and order food. Once we’d all had a good night’s sleep, Dad found us alternate accommodation in Les Deux Alpes. I’m not sure how he managed it at Christmas time – I suspect charm and a little begging came into play.
It was a magical Christmas. We were together and we were having so much fun.
Another special Christmas was spent in Nüremburg wandering through the Christkindlesmarkt. Mum bought these figures made out of prunes and held onto those things for years even as they got progressively more shriveled and moldy. I still have a few of the Christmas ornaments she bought made from dried corn husks. They are amazing little works of art and remind me of that time.
Most of my memories of Christmas include my extended family. Mum had six brothers and sisters and we spent almost every Christmas – when we weren’t in Germany – with them, eating copious amounts of food and exchanging presents with all the cousins. It was lovely.
My parents both passed away two years ago, just four months apart, Dad just before Christmas. This has completely changed how I celebrate. Because I have such strong memories of spending Christmas with my family, spending it without them is really odd. My two brothers have their own families and we don’t spend the holidays together anymore. Much as I love my husband, staring at him over a turkey with all the trimmings seemed really pathetic. And too much work.
So, when a friend last year suggested we tag along to Las Vegas with his family, we thought long and hard about it and decided to go. It certainly wasn’t the Christmas I remember but maybe that was a good thing. I needed it to be so completely different than what I remembered so I didn’t get all morose and weepy, and you can’t get much different than Vegas.
We’re going back to Vegas this year. We’ll find some turkey on Christmas Day, and do some serious shopping at the outlet malls. Serious shopping. We’re not religious so being in the mecca of copious consumption, which some might find strange or out of place, doesn’t bother us.
Sometimes circumstance means you don’t get to have the kind of Christmas you remember but you can still make it special. It’s about spending time together, having fun and not getting bogged down in the emotion of the holiday that can happen when you’ve lost people very dear to you.
At least that’s what I’ve learned in the last two years. Merry Christmas.
