Situational Analysis | December 23, 2021

Happy Festivus - to the rest of us. Utah Policy will be taking a break through the New Year. We will be back in your inboxes on January 3.

This special edition of Utah Policy is all about Christmas memories. Some are fun and several are tender.

I can understand that tenderness. In 2005, our 17-year-old daughter died on December 9 and was buried on December 17, one day before my birthday and just eight days before Christmas. Elizabeth was born with significant disabilities and far outlived her predicted life expectancy, but her passing still caught us by surprise. I wrote about that Christmas last year and how the lights of Christmas meant so much. So did the love of neighbors and friends who took care of Christmas for us when I wasn't able to do it.

I also have a Christmas connection to an execution. Weird, I know. On Christmas Day 1989, I had a 12-day old baby and there was a news story about Nicolae Ceaușescu and his wife Elena had been executed in Romania. That execution - and the subsequent revelations that tens of thousands of children were in orphanages changed our lives. Just before Christmas 1990, a 20/20 show with Barbara Walters walked America through some of those orphanages - and showed a handful of parents who had adopted children who had been in those horrid places. By the end of the show, my husband and I knew we would join those ranks. A few weeks later, I was in Romania and two months later, came home with the first of our adopted children. ❤️ The trajectory of our lives was changed forever.

Enjoy the following stories as you get ready to make this year's memories. 🎄

The Christmas I remember best

by Rep. Steve Handy

Did you ever see Santa Claus? 🎠Well, I did! I’m not kidding and not making this up, either.

I must have been about 10 or 11 and still a believer, which I am today. I mean, if someone loves you so much to give you presents you better be a believer.

My brother, Mark, and I, who was four years younger, shared a room in the basement. We’d sneak upstairs early Christmas morning, our parents had probably just gone to bed, and Dad, sleeping with one ear open would yell, “Get back down the stairs and into bed you guys.”

On the Christmas I’m remembering, I broached the DMZ and made it up the stairs and into the living room where I clearly remembered that our stockings had been hung with care. The tree was on the south wall against the window.

I was the oldest of my four siblings and it was my responsibility to run this clandestine operation and tell them what Santa had left for each of us.

Of course, our parents had instilled in us the dire warning, “If you see Santa and he sees you he won’t leave you any presents.” Well, that was enough to scare the heebie jeebies out of any impressionable young kid and mostly keep us in our beds.

But that year I was on a mission. I had this.

Creeping around the corner all was dark, but as I looked towards the tree something was moving. Yes, something was moving and I thought it was an arm and maybe even a body, it had to be the jolly old fellow. Now, I didn’t see his red suit nor his white whiskers but I’d seen enough, I’d blown it for the whole family. Now what to do?

Like any red-blooded American kid faced with the prospects of disaster I ran. I high-tailed it with my heart in my throat back to my sister’s bedroom and hid in the closet. All was ruined!

After a few minutes, it seemed like an hour, there were no sounds in the house, I hadn’t been detected. The door to my parent’s bedroom was open but they were totally out of it and my sisters weren’t making noises either.

“I might just pull it off,” I thought. I’d seen Santa, but he hadn’t seen me. So I crept again down the hallway and down the stairs to bury myself under the covers. The house was quiet and all was well? At least I hoped so.

I waited until it was light, probably didn’t ever go back to sleep and came up the stairs as I heard the rest of the family stirring.

The presents were all there, I hadn’t blown it after all, it was my secret except that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I had seen Santa Claus and escaped disaster and I wanted everyone to know it.

Well, the story continues to this day, my children know about it and now my grandchildren and I tell the story again and again about how I saw Santa Claus but for some, wonderful and gracious reason, he still left us presents.

Christmas is wonderful, it’s magical and it’s a heart-warming time of year even if you’re a little naughty while still trying to be nice.

My favorite Christmas memory

by Jim Scott

I was on guard duty all night at Long Binh in Viêt Nam, 1967. We cleared our weapons and sat on last row of Bob Hope’s Christmas Show. That was the best.

Cap Gun, the Stiff-Necked Dog

by LaVarr Webb

One of my earliest memories, which is admittedly a little vague, is a Christmas when I was barely older than a toddler and I got a puppy as my gift. I named him Cap Gun. I’m sure I loved the little puppy, but my only additional memory is that I was carrying the puppy outside and he slipped through my little hands and banged his neck on a board or something. The puppy survived, but walked around for some time with his head tilted to one side. My older siblings (five of them) kidded me about my puppy with a stiff neck and the whole thing was rather traumatic. Maybe that’s why I’m weird.

Christmas transition

by Dr. Jen Seelig

Christmas marks time, birth, and transition. The most palpable memory was the 2020 25th of December. There were no bows and no glitter, so the gifts were not immediately obvious, but they continue to reveal themselves in the most miraculous ways. Dad had accepted and suffered the cancer and the Covid at this point, and in a New York care center on lockdown the patient and caring medical staff connected him with his daughters - Adrienne in Louisville and me in Salt Lake City, via Zoom.

This wasn't easy; Dad didn't partner well with technology. He thought the world started on a one-way trajectory to Hades when the rotary telephone became obsolete. We did get a smile out of him as we held up all the dogs to our computer and phone cameras to say hi to grandpa - particularly when he saw Judith the Yorkie in her Santa ballerina tutu. The conversation wasn't long - he was so very tired, and it wasn't philosophically monumental - mostly sports (Steelers), the highschool track logo on my sweatshirt (Hermes' winged foot), and television shows (MASH and Quincy), but there was so much heart and presence in our geographic distance, "I love my girls!"

Dad exited this life eight days later. I thank God, the Universe, and Everything for that last call - together.

Christmas is bittersweet this year

by Kelsey Berg

My Christmas memory is a little bittersweet as this year Christmas will be a little different. This year is the first year without my sweet Grandma, who passed away this past spring. She was the center of all our festivities and this year we will continue our family traditions without her physically being present, but because of her the traditions mean so much more. My Grandma was a first generation American on both sides - her father from Norway and her Mother from Denmark – because of this our ancestral Christmas traditions were fresh. From the family heirloom authentic Danish Father Christmas costume (which was a role Great-Grandma Dipo played at times) to the 170 year old Kleiner (a fried Danish soft cookie) family recipe, our Christmas traditions connected us to a world and family members we have never known, but were kept alive through tradition. Growing up Christmas Eve was the Olsen family party with Grandma’s two brothers and all their families, we would pack into my Grandparent’s 1940s style house on the treelined streets of Browning Avenue in Salt Lake City. As the families grew, more card tables were added to almost every room on the main floor, as we had a delicious prime rib dinner. After dinner the tables were cleaned up and we packed into their small family room for a Christmas talent show, reading from Luke by Uncle Lud (always Uncle Lud) the story of birth of Christ, and ending with Christmas carols and a visit from Santa (an uncle or neighbor dressed in the Father Christmas costume, I don’t want to think how many people sweat in that over the years). Santa would pull gifts from his bag, one by one, for everyone in attendance (purchased, wrapped, and labeled by my sweet Grandma) and as our name was called we’d go up and sit on his lap for the mandatory photo. The night would end with fresh kleiners dipped in homemade eggnog milkshakes. Eventually, as happens, the families got too big and we separated out into our more immediate families for Christmas Eve but all the components of an Olsen Christmas Eve party continue today.

December 22, 2020 we got together for what we knew would be Grandma’s last time making kleiners, as she had cancer and we knew we were on borrowed time. It was the first time the younger generations took charge on everything, including buying the cardamon. Our inexperience lead us to buying the spice pre-ground, and we found out very quickly that fresh ground is a MUST. The dough fell apart as it was fried and I was worried that we wouldn’t be up to the challenge in the future without Grandma’s 86 years of experience. We were not to be deterred and drove around to a number of grocery stores to find fresh cardamon and after half a dozen stops, were successful and spent the evening shelling the spice and tried again the next day. Thankfully, we tried again and fresh made all the difference and we were relieved to know that when Grandma got to the other side she could tell Great-Great Grandma Dipo the family recipe was in good hands.

This year we will continue to have a traditional Olsen Christmas Eve party even though, for the first time in my life, it won’t be at the home on Browning Avenue and it will be missing the center piece of Gwendolyn Nancy Olsen Isaacson. I hope we as we attempt kleiners for the first time without her and continue these family traditions, we can do her proud and instill the most important things about Christmas on the next generations: the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ and family.”

Christmas prayers

by Ricky Hatch

Christmas of 1992 would be the first time I would host a large family event. Mom had been gone now for almost two months, so our hearts were still tender and eager to reminisce. We longed to gather in my home, which is where she spent a large part of her life, and which was right next to the cemetery where her body lay. A fresh snow of 6 inches had just fallen that morning. Things were going perfectly. It would be a wonderful Christmas Eve.

I’d better go prepare the gravesite, I thought, where we would sing carols, tell stories, and share the holiday with our departed Mom. My family would arrive in 90 minutes. I went to the general area and began pushing snow aside with my boots and gloves. A wave of panic hit me as I realized the headstone was not yet there – only a temporary plastic grave marker that measured about nine square inches – a small square needle in a snowy haystack.

After ten minutes of shoveling, I hurried home and came back with some photos taken at the graveside service. I tried to line them up with the now leafless trees in the background. I glanced at my watch and winced: it would be dark in about 15 minutes and our plans would be ruined.

I knew I had only one option left. There, in the middle of a cemetery field, in my sweat- and snow-soaked pants, I dropped to my knees and began a panting, whispered, heartfelt prayer.

As I stood up, I knew what to do. Lifting the shovel at an angle and walking slowly, I began poking back and forth at the ground with the corner. In less than a minute my shovel slightly bounced. I quickly knelt and eagerly scooped the snow away. My motions slowed as I saw the name on the little plastic square: Virginia Adeline Rehms Hatch. Gently, I brushed the remaining snow from the edges, forgetting the cold world around me.

I knew it wasn’t I who had found her. It was He. Already on all fours, I leaned forward, placed my forehead on the plastic and whispered the words, “Thank you.”

My family and I celebrated with Mom that Christmas Eve. We sang, talked, remembered, wept, embraced, and looked forward.

Upcoming

On This Day In History

From History.com

Wise Words

“This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again."

-Howard W. Hunter

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