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What happened to Christmas?

TEXT BY JANN MITCHELL PHOTO BY ADRIANA GUZMÁNN

Back where I come from, you know it's Christmas the day after Thanksgiving.
That's when you wrench that life-sized Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer from the attic and stake it onto the lawn, right next to Santa and Mrs Santa Claus, the snowman family and the nativity scene with the Ken-doll Jesus. You also untangle the miles of multi-coloured lights and turn every bush, tree and porch railing into a blinking rainbow.
Not here. Welcome to Christmas in Sweden.
The festive season kicks off the first Sunday of Advent, with the lighting of one candle, festooned with tiny plastic replicas of red-capped, terribly poisonous mushrooms. Swedish attics harbour skillions of these mushrooms, along with such oddments as straw goats and pigs. There may even be a string of white lights for around the door, but no blinkers, please. Coloured lights? Lawn figures? Vulgar! But cheer up. Sundays you light another candle until there are FOUR!
Men, don't plan on your usual Christmas Eve shopping spree at 7-11. Because Christmas Eve - Julafton - IS Christmas. It officially begins at 3 p.m., when Swedes - even adults - watch a half-hour of TV Disney cartoons. Then the julbord beckons, with more meat than Noah had on the Ark: lamb, ham, meatballs - as well as 43 different kinds of pickled herring. You don't like fish? Watch out, because it's hiding everywhere, including the slylsalad (an unlikely combination of chopped beets and herring) and Janssons ferestelse, a potato gratin with anchovies lurking among the layers. Vegetarians starve, but not alone. Swedish law requires one long table at which all can be seated, even if it stretches into Norway. The table is elegant with the crispest linen, fine china and crystal glasses in several shapes and sizes - yet bottles of Coke, mineral water and wine march down the middle like a rag-tag parade of homeless protestors. Go figure.
After the feast, one of the men disappears. Small noses press frosty windows to spot jultomte tromping out of the woods and swinging his tiny lantern. "Are there any good children in this house?" booms - ack, who is it? Not the jolly, velvet-suited Santa, but a mangy character in a mask and old clothes. You wouldn't pick him up hitch-hiking; now he's standing in your home and expecting a drink after passing out gifts. Quick, give him that drink and maybe he'll leave.
Swedes will take a half-hour to meticulously unwrap each gift (often presented with a poem), which makes for a l-o-n-g evening But don't worry. You've got all day Christmas to rest up. Because absolutely nothing happens December 25.
But wait. The pace is slower here, the décor less gaudy. More gifts are handmade; folks seem more relaxed. Let go of old expectations and the charm of a Swedish jul begins to warm you like a third cup of glögg.
Different? Definitely. Something to write home about? You bet...
Now, just wait until the Easter witches arrive!