Do you remember that Christmas when you received everything on your list, the dinner turned out perfect and everyone in your family got along famously?

We didn't think so. Not every Christmas memory is suitable for a Christmas card. And, sometimes, the best ones have more in common with a Picasso painting. They're hard to figure at first, but they gain more appreciation with each passing year.

These Christmas tales are true examples of holiday plans that took a detour from the predictable into the bizarre. Their re-tellings have become beloved family traditions, akin to the hanging of a treasured ornament on a tree.

Last year, my hubby, daughter and I set out to find the perfect tree. My husband is not really into Christmas and grumbled the whole time about driving to the wilderness to cut down a tree that will die a slow death in our living room. The perfect tree was found just outside of Salem, and my husband got all muddy cutting it down. Hence, another thing to grumble about.

We got it home and I immediately wanted to bring it inside and trim it with all of my decorations ... little did I know that a freshly cut tree from the wilderness should have time outside of the house to acclimate. We brought it in and no sooner than getting it straight in the tree stand did I notice the lady bugs on the branches. Gosh, they were so cute ... at a distance.

I looked at my light colored carpet and noticed several ladybugs scurrying across the floor, then I noticed even more on the wall behind the tree, then I looked up and saw more yet attached to my ceiling! YIPES! There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of ladybugs in my house. There were just too many bugs. We took the tree out of the house and hosed it off with the water sprayer. Then we shook the excess water and creatures out of it.

When we brought it back in, it was virtually ladybug-free. Of course, the shaking and spraying must have woken the tree bugs and spiders because then they made their appearance. I lost my cool after that.

Well, after another shake outside, it seemed as if our worries were behind us. The tree was ready to trim. I decorated it carefully. Everyone knows how concerned I am about symmetry and such. The tree was picture-perfect.

Later that evening, my niece came over to show us her lovely SnoBall gown and date. She was lovely, and I wanted to take a picture of her next to my tree. As she turned to walk away, the tulle lining under her dress got caught on one of the lower branches and pulled the tree over on top of her. My husband rushed to catch it and put it back up.

Unfortunately, the tree was jerked so hard it continued to lean to the side. So my husband, who by now was SO FED UP with that tree, just left it. He turned the tree to its side so it would lean up against the wall. I was devastated, but for some reason couldn't stop laughing.

During this whole dress-snagging event, my father-in-law was filming with his camcorder. We are still debating whether or not to submit the film to America's funniest videos. It's sure to get a few laughs.

Deanna Garcia lives in Salem with her daughter and her husband, Josh, an insurance agent with Brooke Auto. The couple are expecting their second child, and enjoyed a bug-free tree-trimming this year.

It was Christmas Day 1997 in Cuzco, Peru. I was at the airport waiting for my flight when it was announced that there would be no plane to take me to Lima, where my friends were waiting with dinner and a small gift exchange. When I asked why there was no plane, I was told they didn't know where it was. Hmmm.

It was cold in the airport, and I shivered inside my ski jacket, wondering just exactly what I was going to do until the next announcement, if there would be one. The airport was deserted except for a few tourists, security guards, and ticket agents. Even the gift shops were closed.

Suddenly a colorfully-clad musical group walked into our area carrying an assortment of musical instruments. I later learned they were headed back to their homes in Bolivia. Looking around at our glum faces, they assembled themselves together and starting playing some lively tunes.

One of the security guards grabbed a ticket agent and began dancing, then both of them went and grabbed someone else. Before long, the entire audience was dancing with one another, grinning ear to ear and having a delightful time. The pan pipes and flutes were hauntingly beautiful.

The dancing and merriment went on for several hours. An announcement came over the speaker saying the plane had been found and we would be boarding shortly. What a wonderful delay that turned out to be!

Vonelle Swanson recently moved to Lincoln City with her husband Dave after spending the past four years teaching fourth grade in Guadalajara, Mexico. It will be the couple's first Christmas as husband and wife.

My twin daughters, Jessica and Jennifer, were about 19 months old and they wanted to help out and be a part of our family tradition. Part of the preparation of making the tamales is to "Wash the hojas (cornhusks)."

We decided to put them in the bathtub in hot water. Well, we put them in the tub for a soak and left Jessica and Jennifer in there to help out. When it was time to transfer the cornhusks into the kitchen and start spreading the masa (corn dough) we went into the bathroom, and, much to our dismay, there were Jessica and Jennifer literally washing the cornhusks, soap and all! The tub was full of soap bubbles.

It just so happens that that year cornhusks were hard to find. We went to several stores in the Salem area looking for cornhusks, but we couldn't find any. Finally, thank goodness, we called my grandma and she had some left from when she made her batch.

Jessica and Jennifer Puentes are sophomores in college now and are still helping their mom prepare tamales for Christmas at the family's Salem home.

I was terribly homesick during my freshman year at Oregon State University in 1989. I had gained the "freshman 15," managed to get a D in Math 101 -- which put my student loans at risk -- and I was generally a Grinch.

I had my ticket home to Anchorage, Alaska, to spend the holidays with my mom, dad, big brother and the family cat. Finals were over and I was just a 3 1/2-hour plane ride away from home where mom had prepared fudge and dad was waiting for me to arrive to get the Christmas tree.

It was the Redoubt Volcano in South Central Alaska, near Homer. And flights into Anchorage were cancelled for good reason. On Dec. 15, a 747 flew through Redoubt's volcanic ash and lost power due to the ash choking its engines. The plane regained power and landed safely, but it would be awhile before another plane from the mainland would make it to Anchorage.

I drove to my grandma's house in Hillsboro and waited. My second effort to get home got me to Seattle, where I joined thousands of other Alaskan college students trying to get home for the holidays.

Hours were spent trying to make other arrangements, and I learned that big brother had started eating the fudge from the refrigerator. Dad went ahead and got the tree without me. I was getting desperate. The Yukon territory was at 50 degrees below zero, and I wasn't sure my VW Golf was ready for the Al-Can Highway's extreme conditions.

On my third and final attempt, my uncle dropped me off at the PDX gate and wished me luck. I made it to Seattle. It was looking promising. And then they made the boarding announcement for Anchorage. I couldn't believe it.

Anchorage survived three volcanic eruptions. The ash was everywhere. But I had made it home for the holidays, just in time for Rudolph and my mom's famous popcorn balls.

Rebekah Willhite is a wife and mother of one who lives in Salem now, and after several attempts, has finally mastered making her mom's fudge recipe.

I'm a notoriously tardy Christmas shopper. Sometimes it is a lack of time, other times a lack of money. And other times, a lack of common sense.

Again, I didn't finish my shopping in time, but I was in luck. My dad said Guy's Drugs was going to be open for a few hours on Christmas Day. I could just swing in there and buy presents for my extended family who we were meeting for Christmas dinner later in the day. No worries. It was either Guy's or 7-Eleven, and this was before you could buy DVDs at 7-Eleven. Heck, this was before DVDs!

Still, I was certain I could find gifts at Guy's Drugs that would appear to be thoughtful presents and not something grabbed off a shelf because I didn't have a choice or time for anything better. And at this point, I wasn't being too choosy.

I entered the store and began looking around. I had an aunt who was tough to shop for, but eventually I decided that portable radios and flashlights would make good gifts all around, what with the earthquake and disaster-preparedness on everyone's minds. At the very least, they would do.

But when I arrived at the counter I suddenly realized a few more lights had been turned off while I had been shopping and no one was behind the counter. A sick feeling began to creep into my stomach. I went to the front door and found it locked. Locked in on Christmas.

"You're what!?" Mom said. "Oh, that's funny." In the background I think I heard my Dad say something like, "That's what he gets for waiting until the last minute."

"You're what!?" Again, more laughter from the other end of the line. I hear the woman on the other end relay my predicament to others in the background. More laughter for them. More embarrassment for me. "Wait a second," she said.

"We'll be right there," he said in a manner that indicated he didn't think the situation was as funny as either of our families did. I suspected he was behind the counter when I walked in.

The guy showed up within minutes. He rang up my items. We exchanged no eye contact. We wished each other a Merry Christmas and I dashed for the door. This time, thankfully, unlocked.

Sadly, Guy's Drugs is no more. An espresso outlet took over the space after the owner retired. But for many years when my Dad would go in to buy something, the owner would remember him as the father of the guy who got locked in the store on Christmas Day. And they both still laughed about it.

The flashlights and the radios and the other "perfect gifts" are long forgotten. But I'm still asked by family and friends to tell that story each year around the holidays. And perhaps that is the best gift of all.

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