“What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present and hope for thefuture.” Charles Dickens, Ebeneezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol.
Author’s Note: This story has been adapted from the original story posted on Linda K. Thomas’ Spiritual Memoirs 101 blog in December, 2011, “Kathleen”s Christmas Past.”
As Christmas approaches every year, I reflect on many memories of Christmas Past. This particular memory warms my heart and makes me smile as I recall the blessings of growing up Italian and of gathering around a table to share Christmas Eve with my loving family.
Gathering around the holiday table, 1953. Grandpa (R) looked full!
Christmas Past: The Feast of the Seven Fishes
The smell of spicy tomato sauce mixed with hearty laughter greet me and my family as we climb the circular staircase to my Nan and Grandpa DiCerbo’s home. We have traveled six hours to join our family for Christmas Eve. When we open the door at the top of the stairs, aunts, uncles, and cousins surround us with warm hugs and loving smiles. I am seven years old and can hardly contain my excitement as I throw off my coat and return the hugs.
We are celebrating Christmas Eve in traditional Italian fashion with the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Christmas Eve in the ancient Catholic Church was a sacred fast day, on which no meat could be consumed.
The table extends the length of the dining room and is adorned with Nan’s finest ivory crocheted tablecloth and gold-rimmed china plates surrounded by sparkling silverware and shiny goblets. Pretty soon, I know the center of the table will be crowded with steaming bowls of pasta, sauce and baccala (salted cod fish), silvery smelt, crab cakes, baked Mackerel, boiled shrimp, trout and calamari (squid).
My seven-year-old taste buds rebel against the fish but I love my Nan’s spicy, warm tomato sauce and homemade pasta. My mouth waters before I even put a forkful of sauce-drenched pasta into my mouth.
I run into the kitchen to see my Nan stirring the sauce. She wipes her hands on her red gingham apron and bends down to wrap her arms around me as we both squeal with excitement.
“Oh, I’m so happy to see you Katarina (my name in Italian),” she says, smiling as she offers me a spoonful of sauce after blowing on it a few times.
The smooth, tomatoe-y sauce slides down my throat and warms my insides.
“This is s-o-o-o good, Nan,” I say as I close my eyes and take in the sweet smell and taste of home.
“Well, it’s ready.” Nan says.
“With that Mom and her sister, my Aunt Rose, begin draining the pasta over the sink, laughing together as the steam clouds Aunt Rose’s eyeglasses. I join the parade of relatives delivering the heaping bowls to the center of the table.
Uncle Freddy, Nan’s brother, pours the homemade red wine from the galloon jugs. Grandpa and his brother, Uncle Vincent have made a new batch from the winemaking press in the basement. I think about how they both came over on the boat from Naples, Italy when they were sixteen and eighteen and wonder how they could ever leave their family in Dugenta behind. I love it when we all get together. There is always laughter.
As Nan places the tomato sauce in the center of the table, Grandpa says grace ,then,smiling, raises his wine glass,
“A saluto!”
Even the children get a small glass of wine. “It’s good for your blood” is the mantra.
I’m sitting between Mom’s brother, my Uncle Michael and my two-year–old brother, Tom. I pass on the yucky calamari, even though the adults are getting seconds. Uncle Freddy places his closed fingers to his lips then fans his fingers out in compliments to Nan.
Before I know it, the bowls are nearly empty and we’re all sitting around with our hands on our bellies. The table is cleared and Mom and Aunt Rose place trays of pears, apples, tangerines and walnuts, almonds and pecans in the shell for dessert.
All the women gather in the kitchen to wash dishes while the men sit around and start playing Pinochle.
When the kitchen is all cleaned up, Aunt Rose heads over to the bay window and motions for the four little cousins, ages two through seven, to come into the living room. “There goes Santa around the corner.”
With noses pressed against the window pain, we see fluffy, white snowflakes falling against the street lights, disappointed we missed him.
We believe with all our hearts though that he was there.
How about you? Do you have a special memory of Christmas Past to share?
I’d love to hear from you. Please leave your comments below~
ANNOUNCEMENTS: Congratulations to book winners, Joan Z Rough and Pat MacKinzie! Joan is the winner of Kristen Lodge’s memoir, Continental Divide and Pat is the winner of Times They Were A-Changing: Women Remember the ’60s and ’70s anthology.
Next Week:
Monday, 12/23/13:“Christmas Blessings, 2013”
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