Or the man who simply had nowhere to go.

For some, Christmas Day traditions need to be re-created. In other cases, because of work or life, they must be put on hold, even ignored.

Truckers must get used to Christmas on the road

Making breast implants for $10.25 an hour no longer cut it. Rosalind Chambers, 47, needed a bigger lift. So she and her daughter, Anecia Dunn, 23, stepped up into a semi. Behind the wheel of a truck, she took on the open highway and a new name.

"My handle's Chocolicious," she says over breakfast, in the same restaurant where the pair had Christmas Eve dinner the night before.

Salt Lake's Sapp Bros. truck stop, off Interstate 215 and California Avenue, is a gathering place for drivers who either feel more at home on the road or have no choice but to be where they are on Christmas Day.

The mother-daughter team from Grand Prairie, Texas, has been crisscrossing the country ever since they got their truck-driving licenses seven months ago. Before this gig, Chambers had only seen three states, and in the beginning, her camera didn't stop clicking because there was so much new to see. But now, after 40 to 45 states, the novelty has worn off.

"After a while, they all look the same," she says, shaking her head.

It's their first Christmas away from family, and Chambers admits she's feeling especially homesick.

They have each other, but even so, "it can get real lonesome," says Dunn, who's left her fiancé for a stretch of several months. It's a life, quite frankly, she's not sure she can or wants to get used to.

Vernon Lakes, on the other hand, is a veteran. He's been driving off and on since 1971 and has made the lifestyle work - at least most of the time. This is only the second Christmas he's been away from his wife and two daughters, and he blames snow in Nebraska and Wyoming for spoiling plans.

"I got shut down," says Lakes, 56, of Lebanon, Ohio. "When I buy my own [truck], I ain't never going to be out for Christmas."

Brunch at senior home elicits cheer, frustration

Jaquelle Blair can't leave Brighton Gardens of Salt Lake City fast enough.

Behind her, beyond the tree, large bows and decorative lights, Catherine Gerger sips a mimosa - the first she's had since the 1930s.

Back then, Gerger was a buyer in New York City, living in a world far different from the one she knows now at 94, in assisted living. Those were the years when she was an Olympic athlete, competing in archery and jet-setting around the globe.

Today, she sits in red, just like her daughter and granddaughter. And though her hearing's faded, and paralysis from a stroke affects her right side, she smiles widely, enjoying Christmas brunch and the company.

Gerger is not the only resident who's relishing the holiday cheer. Kathleen Lutz, wearing her Christmas sweater and reindeer headband, is fairly new to Utah. Her daughter, in similar attire, moved Lutz, 79, from California to Salt Lake City about a year ago.

"We had a wonderful time," Lutz gushes while leaving the brunch.

Smiling less is Blair, 60, who scrambles to get out of the building. Her job, as a hired harpist, is over. And not soon enough.

"Thank goodness," she sighs, as she starts wheeling her harp toward the door. "I've had it with Christmas."

Sixty years she's lived in Utah. Twenty-four programs she's played this month alone. The cold leaves her fingers cracked, and the cuts from harp strings set off what she describes as a "horror show."

"They make me take my bandages off, and the blood starts spurting," she complains, and laughs. And if that isn't bad enough, she points to her hair - stacked high, a la Marge Simpson - and adds, "People try to pull it off! They think it's a hat, but it's not. It's my hair!"

So Blair, who says she's related to Prime Minister Tony Blair, is getting out of here. She's loading up a truck with her harp, the only thing she says she owns, and bolting out of town.

"I'm moving to Napa Valley - tomorrow," she says, leaving Brighton Gardens and the Christmas spirit behind.

Murray bar delivers a true family atmosphere

There's nothing like The Dawg Pound to make Cathy Hewitt feel at home. Decked out in her red sweater, red boots and new bling - gifts from her sister and mother - she looks down the bar and tells her friends, "You guys are my family."

She has been a 20-year regular at this Murray establishment, which has had a number of names and owners. Hewitt, 51, is going through a divorce, but no legal wrangling will shake her commitment to The Dawg.

"My ex is not allowed in here because this is my bar," she says, pouring herself a glass of Bud Light.

She likens the place to "Cheers," because everybody knows her name. And though only a few regulars have arrived so far, more are sure to stream in - just like they did on Thanksgiving, when she says the group had "a big ole spread of food."

Laid out, already, is a pizza, a container of chicken wings and Hewitt's own deviled eggs. Someone else will soon be arriving with lasagna.

So what if Hewitt already has had an early Christmas dinner with her other family. This feast, and gathering, is one she can't miss. It's tradition, after all.

jravitz@sltrib.com