Christmas Eve

 For the longest time, I always thought of Christmas Eve as being strictly the evening and night of the 24th of December. I've slowly changed my mistaken view of one of my favorite days of the year. This is what I remember about it, but I am sure that my brother Jerry will have some slightly different memories. Probably both of us are right.

 

Growing up, I remember getting so worked up with excitement that often I'd get a fever and upset stomach. My younger brother would as well. We'd have to lie down for a while until a nap would make us feel better. Here we are at about 7 and 4 maybe?

When I was about 9 or so, and Jerry was 6, our Uncle Wayne, Mom's brother, began taking us to a movie that afternoon. He was 11 years younger than Mom, which made him more like an older brother to us. It helped a little.

But my favorite memories of Christmas Eve was the people, and obviously the cooking and food. Not that I did any. Mom was Italian on both sides of her parents, so you can imagine what it was like. We had a small house in the country; a living room and a kitchen adjoining it, with two small bedrooms and a bathroom. We usually ate in the kitchen; except for Christmas Eve. That's where the "Italian ladies" would work and set out the food on the table. The men would sit and eat in the living room.

Gram, Mom's mother,  would come out in the late morning - usually driven out by Wayne - and start to prepare the food. Pop would have already gone into town earlier and bought two of the fishes: smelt and bacula (cod for non-Italians). I know that the dinner was traditionally centered around seven fishes, but for the life of me, I can't remember if we had any other fish. I know we had pasta with meatballs and we had salami for sandwiches and just for eating. I can't remember what else we had, I just know there was a lot of it.

Gram was divorced so it was just her and Wayne who came out. But Gram had two sisters, both older I believe. Brunie, the oldest, was married to Dewey. They usually came. They had a son, Lou, who I think they visited on Christmas Day. Then there was Julia, married to Charlie. Their unmarried son, Leo, would come out with them. And oh, I forgot - our collie dog, Bambi, would be in the living room on the floor so everyone had to be careful walking around her. 

Here is a photo of Gram (standing at left), Julia (standing in back), and Brunie (sitting). This is a very early photo. Gram wasn't even married; her boyfriend at the time was standing between her and Julia. Standing on the right and behind Brunie is Dewey. Charlie is sitting. I don't know why they were arranged that way in the photo. Maybe no one was married yet??

Anyhow, back to my story about Christmas Eve. Charlie and Leo smoked cigars so it got pretty smokey in the living room even with the windows open. Pop didn't smoke cigars usually, but I think he may have had one sometime during the day. I know Wayne did. Leo was an expert trap shooter, so he and Pop got along very well. But then, everyone got along well together as I remember. Charlie worked in a glass factory just like Pop, just a different one. I can't remember what Dewey did.

I remember the smells of the cooked fish, the pasta sauce, and the cigar smoke. It was a great aroma. But I couldn't wait until everyone left so we could go to bed. For tomorrow Jerry and I would up at 6!

It has changed a lot now that I am older. But I still love the memories of when I was growing up. It was indeed a simpler time.

A Lost Summer

On this morning's news, a segment was about the reporter was calling this coming summer as "The Lost Summer". I heard that term in a movie I watched the other evening. It was called "The Big Chill", about several college friends who get together for a funeral of a mutual classmate. I may have also read it, but not sure. It doesn't matter. It was enough to get me thinking about what we are going through with COVID-19 and probably will when summer does show up. It's making me remember things of past summers, both recent and long ago.

Growing up in Western Pennsylvania, grade school summers were full of playing outside with my younger brother and our collie dog, Bambi. When we weren't playing two-person baseball, we were often going down into the backwoods making camps and generally exploring.

High school summers were filled with summer jobs and band practices for fall football games. I remember a few vacations where we would visit relatives in Maryland near Washington D.C., stopping at the Gettysburg battlefield along the way. I remember a vacation through Virginia (actually near here) to see the Endless Caverns. My first jobs were cutting grass and driving for a blind lady.

Summers during my college years was consumed with making money for college and living. I was staying at home so I saved a little. My jobs were varied: motel desk clerk, driving for that same blind lady, and finally janitor for the district Bell Telephone headquarters building one-half block from the college. I got that job during my freshman year and kept it straight through graduation, working during the school year as well.

After graduation, I went into the Army and summers disappeared. That is to say, the seasons ran together except for holidays. I took time off or vacations when my duties allowed.

I don't foresee an early end to this seclusion. There won't be any traveling to see daughters or grandchildren. No vacations with my wife. I have a couple of books by Bill Bryson that I think I will read. One, a re-read, is "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid" and "One Summer: America 1927". The first is about the author growing up in the 1950s in Iowa in a town very similar to mine and doing things very much like I did. We're about nine years different in age so it was a fun read. The other is self-explanatory.

Maybe this is a good time to get serious about writing that novel.