There is, as the song says, no place like home for the holidays. But as Christmases pass and parents age, just which home is home for the holidays often changes.

Like Mother's holiday china or the box full of ornaments that have been part of every Christmas we can remember, we try to move the traditional family celebrations to a new location gingerly -- without breaking anything.

Inevitably, though, the next generation makes these gatherings their own, and Christmas memories are slightly altered or made altogether new for their children and grandchildren.

My family is no exception. Every year of our grown-up lives, my three sisters and I would gather at my parents' house on Christmas Eve with assorted husbands and children. We arrived with food, drink and presents, and there was so much chaos in their compact townhouse that, I swear, they couldn't get the lot of us out the door fast enough. They would then retreat for what my mother always called "a fine, little nap."

After my father's death, it seemed too sad to try to celebrate without him presiding from his big chair in the corner of the living room, so we began to rotate Christmas Eve from one sister's home to another. Aside from my father's absence, nothing really changed but the setting; the chaos still drove my mother to her bed for a long nap.

This period of transition meant that when my mother followed my father from this life, we did not have to re-invent our Christmas Eve, only endure her absence from it.

I have lived my married life in Maryland, but Pittsburgh is still home for the holidays, and I make the drive to one of my sister's homes with the same loving dedication I felt when I made the pilgrimage to my parents' home.

Most of us, I think, hold on to the traditions of Christmas with a determination that belies our reputation as a rootless and acquisitive society. That each Christmas should be the same as ever is more precious to us than anything under the tree. We will endure all kinds of inconvenience to anchor the end of each year with a completely predictable Christmas.

"Our Christmas celebration as a family has been at the Adelphi Mill in College Park for over 30 years," says Sally Bielaski of Catonsville. "Each year, the traditions remain the same."

One of eight children, Sally says her parents realized none of their offspring would ever live in a house large enough to entertain this family. They were proved right when their eight children produced 36 children of their own.

So the family moved the celebration to the old, two-story mill and the surrounding park. Now there is plenty of room for a gathering that has included as many as 90 family members, many from out of state. Each family brings food for a traditional meal built around ham and turkey. A tree is decorated with ornaments made by the youngest children, whose efforts are generously judged by the adults. Carols are sung, there's a hike by the creek, and moms and dads watch over the next generation of toddlers at the swing sets.

"I took my children to the mill as babies, toddlers, pre-schoolers, grade-schoolers, teen-agers and young adults," Bielaski says. "They now come with their babies and toddlers."

When her mother died two years ago at the age of 87, there was some doubt that the party at the mill would go on. That doubt was lost in the crowd that arrived that Christmas. "That year was one of the largest gatherings ever," Bielaski says. "Everyone came with a new sense of family tradition."

Donna Brown's Pittsburgh Christmas moved to Maryland when she and her siblings did. For 15 years, her parents have traveled to Westminster to spend the holidays at her home, while the actual celebration rotated among her sisters and her brother's homes.

"Each year, it seemed, there was a new baby sitting in the high chair," Brown says.

And, just as when they were growing up in Pittsburgh, a huge ham is waiting upon the family's return from midnight mass. "It doesn't feel like Christmas Eve until you smell that ham," she says.

As she has for 35 years, Brown's mother continues to bake her delicate, flaky nut roll for Christmas breakfast, and each family is given one to save in the freezer for Easter morning.

Brown's father's recent heart surgery caused her mother to consider canceling this year's visit -- briefly. "She called back a short time later to say that Dad wouldn't hear of missing Christmas morning with the gang! So the ham has been ordered and the grocery list started."

There is only one matter still unresolved. "Will my sister's new baby hold off until the due date of the 26th, or will there be another baby at the table this year?"

Alice Bingel's Christmas traditions are preserved in shoe boxes. Each contains ornaments purchased each year for each grandchild, many from other countries to which Bingel and her husband, Howard, traveled during that year. Written on the shoe box is the story behind each ornament.

"On Christmas Eve, the daddies do the dishes and the moms and children gather around the tree, and the children put their own ornaments on Grandmom's tree," she says. "We start with the youngest, explaining something about the country the ornament came from.

"I have to tell you, our tree has been interesting, with all the ornaments on the bottom and the top, bare. Now that they are getting taller, we are getting more uniformity," Bingel says.

When this family tradition passes to the next generation, the ornaments will accompany it: For now the shoe boxes stay at Grandmom's home in Havre de Grace, but each child will find his or hers among their wedding presents.

Mary-Beth Connor has inherited her family's Christmas tradition, and a bunch of alley cats howling on the alley fence might be more pleasant to the ear. Each year after Christmas Eve mass, her six brothers and sisters, "along with kids, spouses and significant others," would return to her parents' home for scrumptious treats and presents -- and Christmas carols.

"We are all terrible singers, which makes it so much fun," says Connor, from Eldersburg.

Since her parents moved into a condominium five years ago, Connor has had the gathering of the clan at her house instead. But her father still dons a Santa's hat and reads "A Visit from St. Nicholas" and the Christmas story. "The only adjustment is the starting time," she says. "It is now earlier in the afternoon so kids -- and adults -- can get to bed sooner!"

The passing of the mantle of "Christmas Host" is not without melancholy, because it so often means the matriarch or patriarch of Christmases past is gone, or has aged more than a little.

Every year since her father's death seven years ago, Glynis Powell's family has held a party at Christmas, to remember and to celebrate and to keep the Baltimore family together. This tradition was not carried forward from the family elders, but began with a death among them.

"My baby sister Velda held the first one and her husband played Santa and she was one of his elves," says Powell. "It was her way of making sure everyone was all right."

The annual party has moved through the ranks of the six children, each one taking a turn as host. This year, it is Glynis' mother's turn. She's had to rent out the VFW Hall in Dundalk to accommodate all the children and grandchildren who will be there.

"The fun part is everyone's family is expected to perform an act of some sort -- singing, poetry, dancing, or whatever," says Powell.

Everybody brings a dish and presents for their children.

"Next year, it will be my sister's turn again," Glynis says. "This isn't a opportunity to forget. This is a chance to share."

For the first time in 36 years, Mary Jo Rogers' family will not gather at Grandmom's house for Christmas, because her mother suffered a stroke and is now in an assisted living facility.

"The good thing is my mother is still here to celebrate Christmas with us, even if we can't be back at her house," says Rogers, of Ruxton. "I still use her Noel tablecloth, her nativity scene and other decorations."

For several years, the Christmas Eve festivities and the dinner on Christmas Day have been held at Rogers' house because her mother could not handle all the cooking and all the people. But Rogers and her sister still would help trim their mother's tree and reminisce over each ornament. And everyone was at Grandmom's on Christmas morning.

Not this year, however.

"My sister and I have taken our favorite ornaments and that helps," says Rogers. "But I drive by the old house every now and then, and it seems so strange.

"I am glad we have gradually been moving in this direction, but it is still sad."

Rogers' mother will not be able to attend Christmas Eve mass with the family this year. She is not well enough. But she will spend the night with her daughter's family on Christmas Eve and will wake with them on Christmas morning.

"That will be fun because she's never done that before!"

What's this? A new tradition?

Pub Date: 12/22/98