I salivated as the aroma of piping hot homemade pizza filled our house on Christmas Day.

Although not typical holiday fare, it’s a Malgesini tradition. And it’s always a delicious gift with my husband donning the apron.

Holiday activities are as varied as the people partaking in them. In the mid-1990s, we changed our routine of spending one holiday with my folks in Coos Bay and the other at John’s family in Everett, Washington. After saving for a few years, we flew to a beachfront resort in Mazatlan, Mexico.

Leaving the snow-covered landscape of Eastern Oregon, I forgot to pack sunscreen. I ended up forking out way too many pesos for a bottle after developing a raccoon face from time spent at the pool and beach. But that’s nothing compared to our friend Sean Sunday. During a different trip to Mazatlan, his uneven sunscreen application resulted in a sunburn pattern that looked like a Holstein cow.

In addition to vendors wandering the beach, yelling “Camarones, camarones frescos,’” we often heard the festive strains of “Feliz Navidad.” Attending a bullfight on Christmas Day capped off our trip with the ultimate cultural experience.

When inquiring about tickets, our resort concierge was quick to say the bulls were killed. However, she added, the meat is later processed for human consumption. I can’t imagine it’s tasty or tender based on the bull’s traumatic demise.

Although we went to Moab, Utah, for Thanksgiving 2010, and have shared a few holiday meals with friends, John and I have enjoyed developing our own traditions. We prefer simple celebrations with just the two of us and our canine kids.

Staying home eliminates worries about inclement weather. And we have experienced our share of treacherous traveling conditions.

While snow is rare on the Oregon coast, we woke up to a winter wonderland in Christmas 1983. Despite John and my folks suggesting a delayed departure, I insisted we needed to go. Hired just a month prior, I was scheduled for a late afternoon shift in north Portland.

Heading up the coast, the conditions deteriorated with freezing rain. It was like driving on an ice skating rink. Since vehicles aren’t equipped with skating blades, we were forced to drive slowly.

In addition to taking twice as long, we had an icy mishap at a gas station in Lincoln City. As we were sliding toward the pumps, I had visions of an exploding fireball. (I watch too much TV).

While still drivable, the truck needed a realignment. We rolled into Newberg nearly an hour after I should have clocked in at work, which was another 45-minute drive — in good weather.

Despite trying to call my supervisor on pay phones along the way, I didn’t reach her until we got home. She said to stay put as a coworker was happy to cover my shift for holiday overtime.

Our move to Eastern Oregon brought new travel challenges. In addition to doubling the distance to Coos Bay, trips to Everett now include a pair of mountain passes.

We were looking forward to hosting my folks during our first holiday season here, however, those plans were nixed. Despite being told this was a “banana belt,” it started snowing before Thanksgiving and with bone-chilling cold, it didn’t melt until after the new year.

That Christmas, we rode Amtrak to Seattle. Although the scenery was absolutely gorgeous, there was a glitch. After friends dropped us off at Hinkle, we huddled in a small shack for hours because the train was late.

The heater was like “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” except it was rarely “just right.” In addition to the temperature extremes, another traveler periodically lit up cigarettes.

In keeping with recent traditions, our dogs got special treats while John and I opened our gifts. And after “ooohing and ahhhing” our presents, I went to a Christmas Eve service.

As I slept in on Christmas Day, John began dinner prep work. And my folks opened their gifts while we talked on the phone. After getting our fill of pizza, we played a couple of word games.

Simple but perfect for us. I wish you the best in the coming year.