Christmas Isn’t Christmas Anymore
Living on the other side of the world has changed my holiday.
Growing up, my Christmases were the perfect Hallmark postcard of what this holiday should look like. I lived in Finland, so cold weather and snow were common. In my family, we surrounded ourselves with even more snow.
My grandpa loved skiing, so he’d move to a couple hundred miles from our town in the winters just to be able to ski everyday. My mom would take us there on Christmas, to take advantage of the few days a year she was able to take off from managing her small business.
It was great. I learned to ski at seven, and ever since then, I followed my grandpa around. He was a great skier, and I was the only one able to keep his pace, the only one crazy enough to even try. Those were our best moments together, and I consider myself lucky to have formed a special kind of bond with him over those days. My sisters and most of our cousins didn’t.
After a couple of hours of skiing, we’d head to the house to warm ourselves in the sauna. Every house has one in Finland, and it’s a Christmas tradition you just can’t live without. Then, we’d spend the rest of the eating my grandma’s cooking, her traditional casseroles and rice-filled Carelian pies made out of rye flour, and playing board games into the night.
