For about fifteen years I have been a member of a community of inspirational, adventurous, courageous, and accomplished women who devour books as if our lives depended on it. We meet once a month to discuss a book or books, fiction or non-fiction, written by women. We rotate the opportunity of hosting, and the member who hosts chooses the book we will read and prepares something that appears in the book. With gratitude, for the labor of time devoted to this monthly ritual, we bring a spirited beverage for the hostess and to share.

In December, we take this precious time to gather together with the sole purpose of celebrating the season, spreading good cheer and, the most important part, to participate in a Cookie Exchange! There is no pressure to bring cookies with the option to just come and eat them, and there is always merriment, laughter, stories, and sometimes tears. So much wisdom and experience has been shared within this lovely group of women who range in age from the mid-forties to the mid-eighties. That, in itself, is a gift that keeps on giving. Cookies, wine, women, and tomes – this is a holiday tradition that I cherish every December.

A few years ago, we started a silly tradition that makes for lots of fun at Christmastime – Hot Wheels races! Yep, that's it, you heard me right, Hot Wheels. Everyone brings a car, and we race until there's a winner! There are prelims and finals – a big bracket of racing! It is so much fun as everyone, young and old, can compete. The winner gets to take home his/her pride and maybe a silly prize, too.

My mother's family is almost entirely from the United Kingdom, and so, as a child, we always had a traditional English dinner of Yorkshire pudding, roast beef, oysters and trifle for dessert. We had Christmas crackers at the table, not crackers you eat but the ones with a paper crown and surprise inside. The tradition is that you cross arms and pull one end of your cracker while pulling the other end of the one that the person next to you is holding. Then, everyone wears their paper crown and tells the jokes that are inside.

My parents loved the holidays, particularly my mother. Aided and abetted by my father, they created a magical integration of the secular and non-secular. In our family, we opened our gifts on Christmas Eve, after the all-ages pageant at our festive church. Afterward, we piled into our car, my cousin Becky often in the backseat with me, to celebrate with Grandma and Grandpa Appel, who, themselves, were magical. We feasted on Dutch treats to acknowledge our heritage, including a holiday drink created by, of all things, fermenting raisins in some kind of liquor. My parents and aunts and uncles loved this stuff; one taste for us kids, though, was the only one we would take in a lifetime, as it turned out. Here's the thing: We opened some gifts at our grandparents' home yet saved the ones for individual families when we scattered. This is why Christmas Eve lasted until well after midnight.

While we sang and reflected during church, then partied at the elder Appels' home after, guess who visited the homes of us kids? Yes, Santa Claus. While all our parents attempted to keep the Santa story balanced with the Christian one and early on helped us understand that Santa was a story about generosity, still your heart beat fast as you entered your own home, knowing that additional gifts might be nestled under the tree. Placed by whom? This we never knew.

Every year, I try to watch the cartoon version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. When I was little, I tended to get sick a lot during the winter months. On nights I couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak downstairs where my dad would stay up late watching old classics. The Grinch is one of his favorites. I’d sit by him, and we’d quietly take in the colors and rhymes and Whoville. Since then, the movie - and the book – symbolize moments with my dad and cozy memories of feeling safe and sound.

Now that I have my son, and my heart has grown ten sizes, I look forward to sharing The Grinch and its message. Christmas comes even without packages and presents. It lives in our hearts year-round. It lives in the good deeds we share with one another. It lives in the memory of one young girl and her dad.

For many years, my grandma, mother, and Aunt Wanda took turns each year hosting Christmas for our large family. Each of them had a house large enough to accommodate all of the kids and grandkids, and each had their own set of special Christmas dishes. I always looked forward to seeing those festive plates and platters on the table, and my morning coffee tastes so much better in a Santa-shaped mug!

In my early twenties I lived with my Aunt Wanda in Colorado. I was helping her prepare for the soon-to-be houseful of family. As we unboxed the Christmas dishes, I commented something like, “I love them. Just seeing them come out of the box makes me so happy!”

“Me. too!” she said.

The tradition of rotating homes and the whole family gathering together shifted when my grandparents moved into assisted living, and eventually it dissolved. Years later, I went back to visit my aunt. It was summertime, and I wanted to show my son my favorite Colorado sights – Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs, Pikes Peak. Our flight arrived late in the night, and we went straight to bed. The next morning, I woke to the smell of Uncle Pete’s extra-strong coffee brewing. I went up to the kitchen and opened the cupboard to get a coffee cup, and there I saw not only a row of Santa-shaped coffee mugs, but also the whole set of Christmas dishes filling the cupboard – serving bowls, platters, and all. “Did you do this just for me?” I asked.

“Nope,” she said. “Last Christmas, I started to box them up, and I felt sad, so I decided to leave them out all year. They hold so many wonderful memories, and I smile every time I use them.” I don’t have Christmas dishes, but I do have a reindeer mug that comes out of the basement every year. I think, this year, it’s not going back in the box.

Holiday Cheer