Dinner favourites and catching up with old friends
Spiritual journey
Every December our meditation group gathers for a magical event: an all-day meditation in honour of Christ. At first, eight hours of stillness seems impossible. But as time passes, our minds really do clear; shopping lists are forgotten, and the silence wraps us as warm as our blankets.
By the time we're softly singing nativity carols in the candlelight, the joy we feel is indescribable, truly a taste of peace on earth.
Meanwhile, at my parents' house, little kings and shepherds appear in early December all over the living room. Their goal: to reach the Holy Family on the mantelpiece by Christmas Day.
The shepherds range the mountains of the bookshelves, while the wise men bravely climb through the jungle-like branches of the Christmas tree. And, magically, they move only when no one is looking! A miracle? Or is the miracle how much fun this is, after 20 years?
— Janet Rowe, senior editor
Jiggling all the way
My family decorates the tree on Christmas Eve and stuff stockings, but the tradition that sets us apart has to do with our Christmas dinner. It started almost a hundred years ago with my great-grandmother Monroe.
Every year on the table with the turkey and the stuffing and the cranberry sauce, holding pride of place in a dish we use only once a year, are two quivering piles of red and green Jell-O. For us, the meal just isn't complete without the jewel-toned Jell-O in the middle of the table (or scooped onto our plates, melting into our turkey and gravy).
Sometimes Jell-O is just Jell-O, but four generations later, at our Christmas dinner, it's much more.
— Austen Gilliland, senior copy editor
Memories by the box
I go home a few days before Christmas to spend the holidays with my parents. While the tree is up, it is not entirely decorated. On the dining room table, left for me to put on the tree, is a box of ornaments I made as a child.
As I find just the right place to hang Mr. Peanut (made when I was five), and a clay sleigh and Santa (age seven), my mom puts on some music (“Snoopy's Christmas” is a must) and my dad makes us all hot chocolate.
— Wendy Graves, copy chief
Winter's path
I grew up in a small village in Germany near beautiful Lake Constance, which also borders Switzerland and Austria. I've been living away from Germany for over 14 years, though I still visit my parents back home.
Usually I fly home for Christmas, as do several of my best childhood friends, whom I grew up with right from the stroller.
Germans celebrate Christmas Eve within a tight family circle. Most families go to church, have dinner at home and then unwrap presents, but I have my own tradition. Before dinner I will meet my old friends (most of whom I haven't seen since the Christmas before) for a lovely two-hour evening walk, starting from my parents' home.
We start when it's still light and walk along the lake. We'll pass beautifully lit churches; sometimes we can hear the organ and Christmas carols. We'll pass vineyards and grazing sheep. If we're lucky it's a snowy Christmas.
By the time we get back it's dark, we've exchanged all the important news of the year and we are ready for Christmas dinner with our families.
— Annette Waurick, senior associate art director
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