Sometimes things we think of as “usual” are not.

This is how I have felt in the wake of the “I’m sorry, what now?” questions and comments, received following my mention that my family has adopted the Icelandic tradition of books on Christmas Eve in lieu of big gifts under the tree.

To be honest, although I realized not everyone was choosing it, I thought everyone knew about it. How wrong I was! So many questions! So much interest. Very gratifying.

Given the enthusiasm, and given the season, and especially given the reality that I feel like talking about something light and fun and festive, let’s dig in.

Midcoast resident Heather D. Martin wants to know what’s on your mind; email her at heather@heatherdmartin.com.

I came to this tradition in a roundabout way.

One year, I was staring at the long holiday stretch ahead of me and feeling utterly overwhelmed by it all. I found myself missing – no, it went beyond that. I think “yearning” is the word I need. I was yearning for the holidays of my childhood, which was strange because they were slim.

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I grew up in a family that was big on education, but low on creature comforts. There were always books and music and interesting conversations; but not always food. Or heat. The car in the drive would invariably be a really cool old Benz or Alfa, but it was a toss-up if it was running, and doubtful it had gas in the tank.

It was a very interesting way to grow up.

The highlight of Christmas for me as a kid, and I know how this sounds but I swear it is true, was the orange I would find in the toe of my stocking. It was, and remains, the deepest memory of happiness.

I can remember the heft of it, the amazing tangy citrusy smell. It was a true gift.

You’d think an orange would be a low bar and that the following years with a touch more financial footing would have been better. I suppose in some ways they were. After all, eating every day is really, really nice. In fact, though, the holidays were feeling less and less special.

I toyed with simply stopping. No longer observing the holiday at all. But let’s get real. Rather than turn total humbug, I looked around for a way to recapture the joy, and found Jólabókaflóð.

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OK, I’m going to admit, I actually had no idea that was the correct name of the tradition until just now when I sat down to check my facts, but I love that, too. According to “Arctic Adventures,” the name literally translates to “Christmas Book Flood” – which, again. Yes. That is my scene.

The “how-to” is fairly simple, and everyone, Icelandic or not, is welcome to make this tradition their own. Essentially, folks get together on Christmas Eve and give each other books. The books are accompanied by treats, such as hot cocoa, chocolates or “special beer.” In my family, we lean heavily on homemade cookies and cocoa.

Part of the point, though, is that this is not “one more thing” to do. It is intended to replace some of the overwhelming consumerism with something both more simple and authentic. You can shop your local bookstore, gift used books, books off your own shelf, or even make it a library book that goes back at the new year.

There is something powerful and magical about stories. That magic doubles when they are shared. It takes us right back to the most primal human experience – sitting around the fire, creating stories to pass the night.

The real point, of course, is gathering together, spending time reading with each other, sharing stories, and just generally carving out time to spend with the people you love.

So, think about if you want to adopt this tradition in your family. Then get ready to let go of the shopping spree and snuggle in with a good book and a treat and relax into the season.

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