God Jul! Merry Christmas! Finally, the long-overdue part iii to my holiday ambivalence post. I am happy to report that my effort to appreciate the holidays has worked!  I’ve gone from ambivalence to full on holiday joy, complete with dancing to Christmas carols with my man as we marvel at the stack of presents we seem to have accumulated:

As I’ve mentioned, Christmas is my favorite time time of year to be of Swedish heritage. Mormor, my wonderful, bite-size paternal grandmother, was at her best during the holiday season, and that’s saying something. When I was little, I would spend afternoons with her in the kitchen, my too-big-for-me apron tied up under my armpits to keep me clean as I stood on a chair to reach the counter. With my “help,” she would make batches and batches of pepparkakor (which are essentially the most brilliant gingersnaps you’ll ever taste) and spritz. Some days we would link the sturdy metal meat grinder to the pull-out cutting board and crank out links of korv, the traditional Swedish Christmas sausage. (With all due respect, this dish is more notable for it’s sentimental value than for its taste.) But my favorite afternoons were those spent making Swedish coffee buns, on which I always wanted to sprinkle extra granules of parl sokker, Swedish pearl sugar. I would often burn my fingers plucking one out of the muffin tin as soon as they came out of the oven. Carefully, I would unwind the spiral, picking out the raisins and popping them in my mouth before dipping the pastry into my doll-sized cup of coffee-milk.

These treats would all be part of the Christmas spread, of course, but they played an important role slightly earlier in the season, too. December 13th, or Santa Lucia Day, has become one of my favorite holidays of the year. Anyone who had the Kirsten American Girl doll is likely familiar with this holiday. Traditionally, the eldest daughter wears a white gown tied with a big red sash and a wreath of candles on her head. Together with her siblings, they walk through the house singing Christmas carols and the Santa Lucia song, and wake their parents with a tray of coffee, cookies, and coffee buns. This American Girl book cover is pretty accurate:

In my house, it wasn’t the eldest daughter waking the parents. My mom would rouse me (the youngest) around sunrise and drive me the two blocks to Mormor and Poppy’s. Once there, I would don the traditional costume–thankfully, with a crown upgraded to electric candles–and help my mom put together a tray with goodies. Waking my grandparents up in this way is one of my fondest childhood memories. There was usually a healthy mix of happy tears and smiles before I climbed onto their bed and tried to sneak some coffee buns for myself.

In case you were wondering, no, I did not wake Michael up like this on Santa Lucia Day. In fact, this year, Santa Lucia Day was sort of a bust. We had intended to make glogg, which, by dint of being gluten free, has now leapfrogged over coffee buns to become the most delicious part of a Swedish Christmas. Unfortunately, we were still trying to find everything we needed for the recipe, and it was too darn cold to head out for the last few elements.

Finally, though, we whipped up a batch yesterday. Using my dad’s recipe, which is a modification of his dad’s recipe, which probably goes back a few more generations, we were able to make about three liters of highly alcoholic deliciousness. Even though some items were impossible to find (cinnamon sticks, cheesecloth, sherry), we were able to pull together enough substitutes to make a pretty tasty approximation. Here Michael, stirring up the goodness:

And me, feeling rather triumphant with our stash:

Of course, no Christmas would be complete without some of Mormor’s embroidered decorations. Way back in may when I was packing to come here, I looked for something small enough to roll up and slide into my suitcase. This little wall hanging seemed like just the thing, and makes my family feel close whenever I look at it:

Michael has also been a gem, smiling as he listens to me belt out off-key Christmas carols in Swedish, even when I can only remember have the words. It’s too bad I didn’t get (the female version of) Poppy’s voice. He was in the North Star Singers, the men’s singing group at the Scandinavian Club, and I have such a vivid memory of being at the Club each year when the big Christmas tree was brought in. Poppy and the Singers would lead us in  Nu Är Det Jul Igen, which means “Christmas is Here Again” as everyone danced around in a circle and the accordion played along.

It was a pretty charmed childhood, I have to admit. While I miss my family terribly this time of year, I’m thankful to have such wonderful memories to carry with me here. And I can’t wait until next winter when we’ll all be gathered together in front of the hearth, trading presents and stories. In the meantime…

By way of example, Michael likes to say I come from Shiny Happy Land.  When he called me last Christmas, shortly after our first date, he asked what I was doing. “Oh, you know, we’re all just cleaning up after dinner.  Dad put on a Blues Christmas CD, India and I are doing silly dances while we clear the table, Anders is wiping down the placemats…” There was laughter and music and general merriment in the background. It’s pretty tough to beat.

Which makes being 8,000 miles away at Christmastime (aka, the best time of the year to be Swedish) extra tough. So I’ve developed a three-prong plan of attack:

Part I: Focus on all the good parts about living in Korea

Part II: Do everything I can to keep my health (mental and physical) in order.

Part III: Bring as many elements of a Swedish Christmas as possible to Seoul.

It’s not the same as having my amazing rugrat niece crawling all over me while we open presents in front of the fire, but it should help make it all a bit easier. I’ll try to post details soon. And until then –
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!