So, yesterday I wrote a rather pessimistic (read: really pissy) post about my struggle through this holiday season thus far. I have been feeling like I'm always a step behind, not able to truly do what's necessary to get my house looking festive, wrapping gifts, giving out cards, etc. I know this mostly because of the illness that's been raging through my home in the last month. Just keeping up with laundry and dishes and medications and doctors' appointments has been exhausting; that doesn't even count working and seeing family and on and on and on....
And then I read some of the great things that are going on in my friends' and family's homes for the season. It struck me: I love Christmas, and I think a bit of a "sentimental journey" is in order....
When I was little, we lived in Lowell, MA, in a lovely little house near Callery Park. Dad and/or Momma would take me to the park in good weather. Christmas was a super-special time; we had an advent calendar (usually kept in the kitchen), we made lists for Santa, Dad played the piano when there was time and we sang Christmas carols, Momma baked treats in between Masses and working and taking care of GG and Katie (who were babies at the time), we watched "Charlie Brown Christmas" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on TV when they were broadcast. Christmas morning would come, and I'd run downstairs holding onto Momma or Dad's hand, with each of them carrying an infant on one hip. The tree was in the living room, right near the hi-fi system, across from the spinet. And oh the gifts and treats! I remember tea sets and dolls (my very first Cabbage Patch Doll!) and dollhouses and clothes and a doctor's set, and always a stocking full of candy and fun things, with a "mysterious round object" at the bottom. It was an orange. It was an orange every year (an old family tradition), but every year I (and then GG and Katie and Chris) would wonder what that object at the bottom of the stocking was! Momma would always try her best to hide her smile and laugh as we tried to figure it out, holding our stockings upside down and shaking them, watching it roll down and out onto the carpeted floor.
When I was seven, we moved to Dracut. The setting was different, but the traditions were the same. By then, there were four of us kiddos; Christopher was the infant now. We'd wait in our rooms on Christmas morning, calling out to Momma and Dad: "Can we go now? Can we go to the tree now? Are you up yet?" (Of course, my poor parents had probably only finished setting things up a few hours before, but they'd pull themselves out of bed and throw on robes and slippers. Momma would immediately put on the kettle for morning tea for her and Dad while we took in the first sights of the decorated tree with all its gifts out.) Santa didn't wrap his gifts, Momma and Dad wrapped the ones from them, and we each had a stocking with a different Christmas "picture" on it; that's how we knew whose gifts were whose.
We'd always go to Pa Rocky's house for Christmas Eve. Auntie Linda would cook, or when Pa didn't want her to work so hard, he'd order Chinese Food for everyone. We'd see Pa and Auntie Linda and Uncle Frank and Sean and Evy and Uncle Tony and Auntie Maureen, soon followed by Nick and Sam and Jake as they were born later on. We'd open gifts and play. Sometimes Pa would put on a Frank Sinatra tape while the adults talked and drank coffee. As we've gotten older, Pa has died, and we've turned our "Feast of the Seven Fishes" into a traveling tradition: one year at Auntie Linda's, one year at Auntie Maureen's, one year at Momma and Dad's. Often the Leon Grandes would go to Midnight Mass if we could stay awake. If not, we'd get ready for Mass after opening gifts the next morning.
For many years, we'd go to Auntie Antoinette and Uncle Bruno's house in Somerville (Momma and Dad both grew up in Winter Hill, and much of our family still lived there) for Christmas Day lunch. There'd be the famous "Christmas soup" with little toasted dough balls to throw in on top with your grated parmesan cheese. Then there'd be pasta and meats and all kinds of fabulous food. There'd be biscotti and S cookies and pizelle and cake and coffee for dessert. We'd see Nana and Eddie and get gifts from them, we'd see the Toppi cousins and Pa Cornelio (my great-grandfather). I'd sit in wonder as I heard my Nana and Auntie Antoinette and Uncle Bruno speak Italian to each other and Pa Cornelio. Listening to that beautiful language spoken so fluently and easily was its own kind of Christmas magic (of course, they were usually speaking it so they could talk to each other without anyone bothering them ;).... when I was really little, I didn't know that Uncle Bruno had come to this country at age 22. I just knew that he and Auntie mostly spoke Italian to each other; I always thought SHE was teaching HIM Italian... LOL! Quite the opposite).
Then we'd go to Nana Fitzgerald's over on Richdale Ave (also in Winter Hill) to see the Irish side of the family. There were more gifts, and even more laughing..... TONS of tea and desserts and Dad would pull the decorations off the upright piano in order to start playing carols; everybody sang. I have a distinct memory of Da singing once or twice, smelling of tea and cigarettes and aftershave. I can still smell it now. Nana loves to sing, and still does every year with all of us. I am very lucky to have grown up in a family (both the Italian and Irish sides) where everyone sings well; it's a tradition we've upheld at Nana's house. Now it's Liam (the youngest of the 18 grandchildren) who pulls on Uncle Leon's sleeve and drags him over to the piano to begin our musical portion of the evening.
Another huge part of the Grande Christmas tradition was and still is holiday movies: "White Christmas", "Holiday Inn", "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers", "Muppet Christmas Carol", and George C. Scott's "Christmas Carol". We live in different homes now, but use our smart phones to swap quotes and remember together until we're all in the same place for Christmas Eve and Day. We've even extended our Christmas to the 26th; this is when we do our own personal gift exchanges while eating brunch and watching some of those same movies.
Finally, there are the Christmas decorations that my mother has put up every year that touch my heart. Ornaments that we made as toddlers; one was just a plastic coffee scoop that I put a Christmas sticker in the bottom of at the YMCA preschool when I was four. The sticker fell out and got lost years ago, but every year Dad insists that the plastic coffee scoop be hung on the tree, a reminder of our earliest years as a family at Christmas. We've each taken our stockings with us as we've left the house, but we all insist that we will put an orange at the bottom for our children as they grow older.
There is one Christmas decoration that surpass all the rest for me. It is a stone statue of the Baby Jesus in the manger with Santa kneeling at His side, red hat in hand as he pays homage to the child. It has been the "picture of Christmas" in my head since I was four years old. We were still living in Lowell then, and Momma would always put it on top of the spinet on the left side. I'd practice for my piano lessons with Sr. Anne, looking at the baby and Santa, wanting to be as good as he and remember why we celebrated Christmas.
Memories continue to flood my brain as I type; I'm sure there are more that my siblings and cousins will remember as they read this post. What this walk down memory lane really shows me is how wonderfully blessed I am. That even though there are demons knocking at my brain's door, even though there's a pile of dishes in the sink and my tree isn't up yet, I am the luckiest girl in the world. Now Connor and Luca (Chris and Katie's sons) are here to join us for our traditions, and Uncle Paulie and Auntie Lulu will hold them close and spend too much money on them and I will sing at Mass and hug and kiss so many family members this week.
Above all else, I will keep in my mind's eye the picture of Santa kneeling in front of the Christ Child.
I wish everyone a Blessed Christmas.
And then I read some of the great things that are going on in my friends' and family's homes for the season. It struck me: I love Christmas, and I think a bit of a "sentimental journey" is in order....
When I was little, we lived in Lowell, MA, in a lovely little house near Callery Park. Dad and/or Momma would take me to the park in good weather. Christmas was a super-special time; we had an advent calendar (usually kept in the kitchen), we made lists for Santa, Dad played the piano when there was time and we sang Christmas carols, Momma baked treats in between Masses and working and taking care of GG and Katie (who were babies at the time), we watched "Charlie Brown Christmas" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on TV when they were broadcast. Christmas morning would come, and I'd run downstairs holding onto Momma or Dad's hand, with each of them carrying an infant on one hip. The tree was in the living room, right near the hi-fi system, across from the spinet. And oh the gifts and treats! I remember tea sets and dolls (my very first Cabbage Patch Doll!) and dollhouses and clothes and a doctor's set, and always a stocking full of candy and fun things, with a "mysterious round object" at the bottom. It was an orange. It was an orange every year (an old family tradition), but every year I (and then GG and Katie and Chris) would wonder what that object at the bottom of the stocking was! Momma would always try her best to hide her smile and laugh as we tried to figure it out, holding our stockings upside down and shaking them, watching it roll down and out onto the carpeted floor.
When I was seven, we moved to Dracut. The setting was different, but the traditions were the same. By then, there were four of us kiddos; Christopher was the infant now. We'd wait in our rooms on Christmas morning, calling out to Momma and Dad: "Can we go now? Can we go to the tree now? Are you up yet?" (Of course, my poor parents had probably only finished setting things up a few hours before, but they'd pull themselves out of bed and throw on robes and slippers. Momma would immediately put on the kettle for morning tea for her and Dad while we took in the first sights of the decorated tree with all its gifts out.) Santa didn't wrap his gifts, Momma and Dad wrapped the ones from them, and we each had a stocking with a different Christmas "picture" on it; that's how we knew whose gifts were whose.
We'd always go to Pa Rocky's house for Christmas Eve. Auntie Linda would cook, or when Pa didn't want her to work so hard, he'd order Chinese Food for everyone. We'd see Pa and Auntie Linda and Uncle Frank and Sean and Evy and Uncle Tony and Auntie Maureen, soon followed by Nick and Sam and Jake as they were born later on. We'd open gifts and play. Sometimes Pa would put on a Frank Sinatra tape while the adults talked and drank coffee. As we've gotten older, Pa has died, and we've turned our "Feast of the Seven Fishes" into a traveling tradition: one year at Auntie Linda's, one year at Auntie Maureen's, one year at Momma and Dad's. Often the Leon Grandes would go to Midnight Mass if we could stay awake. If not, we'd get ready for Mass after opening gifts the next morning.
For many years, we'd go to Auntie Antoinette and Uncle Bruno's house in Somerville (Momma and Dad both grew up in Winter Hill, and much of our family still lived there) for Christmas Day lunch. There'd be the famous "Christmas soup" with little toasted dough balls to throw in on top with your grated parmesan cheese. Then there'd be pasta and meats and all kinds of fabulous food. There'd be biscotti and S cookies and pizelle and cake and coffee for dessert. We'd see Nana and Eddie and get gifts from them, we'd see the Toppi cousins and Pa Cornelio (my great-grandfather). I'd sit in wonder as I heard my Nana and Auntie Antoinette and Uncle Bruno speak Italian to each other and Pa Cornelio. Listening to that beautiful language spoken so fluently and easily was its own kind of Christmas magic (of course, they were usually speaking it so they could talk to each other without anyone bothering them ;).... when I was really little, I didn't know that Uncle Bruno had come to this country at age 22. I just knew that he and Auntie mostly spoke Italian to each other; I always thought SHE was teaching HIM Italian... LOL! Quite the opposite).
Then we'd go to Nana Fitzgerald's over on Richdale Ave (also in Winter Hill) to see the Irish side of the family. There were more gifts, and even more laughing..... TONS of tea and desserts and Dad would pull the decorations off the upright piano in order to start playing carols; everybody sang. I have a distinct memory of Da singing once or twice, smelling of tea and cigarettes and aftershave. I can still smell it now. Nana loves to sing, and still does every year with all of us. I am very lucky to have grown up in a family (both the Italian and Irish sides) where everyone sings well; it's a tradition we've upheld at Nana's house. Now it's Liam (the youngest of the 18 grandchildren) who pulls on Uncle Leon's sleeve and drags him over to the piano to begin our musical portion of the evening.
Another huge part of the Grande Christmas tradition was and still is holiday movies: "White Christmas", "Holiday Inn", "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers", "Muppet Christmas Carol", and George C. Scott's "Christmas Carol". We live in different homes now, but use our smart phones to swap quotes and remember together until we're all in the same place for Christmas Eve and Day. We've even extended our Christmas to the 26th; this is when we do our own personal gift exchanges while eating brunch and watching some of those same movies.
Finally, there are the Christmas decorations that my mother has put up every year that touch my heart. Ornaments that we made as toddlers; one was just a plastic coffee scoop that I put a Christmas sticker in the bottom of at the YMCA preschool when I was four. The sticker fell out and got lost years ago, but every year Dad insists that the plastic coffee scoop be hung on the tree, a reminder of our earliest years as a family at Christmas. We've each taken our stockings with us as we've left the house, but we all insist that we will put an orange at the bottom for our children as they grow older.
There is one Christmas decoration that surpass all the rest for me. It is a stone statue of the Baby Jesus in the manger with Santa kneeling at His side, red hat in hand as he pays homage to the child. It has been the "picture of Christmas" in my head since I was four years old. We were still living in Lowell then, and Momma would always put it on top of the spinet on the left side. I'd practice for my piano lessons with Sr. Anne, looking at the baby and Santa, wanting to be as good as he and remember why we celebrated Christmas.
Memories continue to flood my brain as I type; I'm sure there are more that my siblings and cousins will remember as they read this post. What this walk down memory lane really shows me is how wonderfully blessed I am. That even though there are demons knocking at my brain's door, even though there's a pile of dishes in the sink and my tree isn't up yet, I am the luckiest girl in the world. Now Connor and Luca (Chris and Katie's sons) are here to join us for our traditions, and Uncle Paulie and Auntie Lulu will hold them close and spend too much money on them and I will sing at Mass and hug and kiss so many family members this week.
Above all else, I will keep in my mind's eye the picture of Santa kneeling in front of the Christ Child.
I wish everyone a Blessed Christmas.
