CHRISTMAS
EVE AT NONNA’S
Celebrating Christmas Eve at Nonna’s was more exciting
than at home, even though Mom and Dad gave us, my brother and me, plenty of
gifts; toys, candy, games, and practical things like underwear, pants and
shirts. At Grandma’s house we received a pair of socks or underwear. They were
very practical people. Despite the boring gifts, in all others respects, the
Christmas Eves we spent at Nonna’s were the most memorable for the love,
camaraderie, preparation and joy involved in celebrating the birth of Christ.
She did it by producing an unforgettable feast.
We lived in New Jersey
and the grandparents on my father’s side lived in Mt. Kisco, N.Y. Our travels
to Mt. Kisco, took an hour. We would drive to the Hudson River from our home to
Yonkers Ferry and we would take the ferryboat to the town of Dobbs Ferry, and
from there we would take a winding hilly forested road to Mt. Kisco. We would
arrive in midmorning. This gave my brother and me, time enough to visit and
play with our cousins, there were a number of us, with whom we always had a
grand time.
On this particular
occasion, I was ten years old and my brother twelve. The activities in the
house were hectic, the women were in the kitchen preparing various dishes; the
men were outside, since the weather was unseasonably warm, engaging in
conversations concerning business, politics and religion. Every now and then
one or two popped their heads into the kitchen to see what was cooking. If any
of them reached for a taste of food, their hand received a smack with a wooden
spoon. The women treated us children much better. When we entered the kitchen and
looked at the food with hunger in our eyes Grandma would give us a little pat
on the head and ask us in Italian, “Volete
un poco.” We would nod our head and say, “Si,
Nonna, I want some.” She would give us whatever there was to give and pat us on
the head again, saying, “Mangia, figlio, mangia.” We would roll our eyes and smack our lips and say, “Ummmm good,”
and get more hugs and tastes. Then she would gently chase us out of the
kitchen.
Late in the afternoon the
feast would come. Beforehand, the men brought in saw horses and pieces of
plywood and set them as tables in the living room; they opened the folding
chairs and placing them at the table, stoked the fire-place and made everything
ready for the women. The women covered the plywood tables with sheets and added
the dinnerware, and flasks of wine. Christmas Eve was a fast-day meaning that
if one intended to receive Holy Communion (the receiving of the body and blood
of Christ in the form of bread and wine at Christmas Eve midnight mass) the
consumption of red meat and eating past 6:00pm was taboo. Red meat was not a
concern on that day because from tradition, meat was not prepared. In regard to
the time element, only the most devout refrained from eating for at Nonna’s,
dinner continued way beyond 6:00pm.
The usual fare consisted
of; codfish cooked in tomato sauce with black or green olives, fish soup,
seafood salad and separately, codfish salad with olive oil, capers, and diced
boiled potatoes, spaghetti with clams, fillet of sole, fried squid, home-made bread, olives, pizzas with
anchovies and more. After dinner out came the fruits, nuts, home-made-cookies,
and cakes. The adults washed all of this down with home-made wine, dry wines
during dinner and sweet wines with dessert. We children at times had wine too,
but the adults would dilute it with water. We children preferred soda of which
there was plenty. During all of this there was much gaiety. During preparation
and after dinner the women segregated themselves in the kitchen from which much
laughter emerged; every once in a while a woman came through the living room to
go to another part of the house while the men were sitting at the tables
socializing. Because of the way they arranged the tables, the female trespasser
was pinched or slapped on the derriere while passing by; hands were slapped,
ears were pulled to the laughter and joy of everyone.
We children ran here and
there trying to take it in all; the men drank wine and played amorra in the living room. The winner of
each throw in the game gave out howls of glee with cutting remarks about the
losers’ lack of skill.
The gaiety pulled us
children in as spectators, we stood close by. When the men would finish a flask
of wine, whoever was around received the duty to go down to the wine cellar and
refill it. Those of us who were smart kept an eye on the flask and when it was
low, it was wise to disappear. But often, I was mesmerized with the gaiety, and
getting an earful of their conversation, would forget about the wine flask. I
got that assignment a number of times and hated it. I had a fear of imaginary
monsters that laid-in-wait in the dark wine-cellar.
The wine-cellar was in
the basement of the house; the stair case for access was in the middle of the
house and was semi-spiral, with one landing midway. At the top of the stairs
was a light-switch that turned the light on above the staircase; fifteen feet
distant from the bottom of the stairs was a ceiling-light fixture with a
pull-string and then another ten-foot walk to the wine-cellar doors.
During the day walking
down the stair case was scary in itself, and it was necessary to turn on the
light since not much light entered from the windows to brighten the cellar
completely. But in the evening, it was another story, the stairs led into the
ensuing darkness of the basement. Getting to the pull-string light fixture
meant, you had to enter into deeper darkness. I felt very insecure, fearing a
monster would leap out at me from the shadow. When I pulled the string and the
light came on it was a relief. With the light on I could clearly see the
wine-cellar doors. They were wood French doors that opened outward, that is you
pulled them open towards you. I would walk securely to them without any fear
until I had to open them. Opening the doors was frightening for there was no
light in the wine cellar. Upon opening the doors the light from the string-pull
ceiling fixture filtered in and there stacked on each other were five large
barrels of wine. The delicious aroma, reminded me of bread baking.
A unique incident of the
wine-run duty stands out in my memory. It was Christmas1947 and I happened not
to be very alert and received the task to retrieve the wine. The sun had already
dipped well below the horizon, and the men were sitting at the table, talking
and eating fruits and nuts. Suddenly one of them called to me. I
unsuspectingly, responded, “Yeah!”
An uncle holding an empty
flask in his hand blurted, “Here! Go fill it up.” I with dread, said,
“Yes…sir!”
I took the flask and went
to the basement door. I opened it and flicked on the light. I walked down the
staircase in a slow step by step descent. With each step I held on to the
banister and looked for gremlins. When I reached the bottom of the stairs I
looked for the pull string to turn on the next light, I could barely see the
string hanging in the faded light. Bravely, I ran to it and pulled the string, Ahh! More light and no monsters… Looking
left and right I slowly walked to the panel doors of the wine cellar. As I
reached the doors, full of fear, I turned to look behind me. I saw nothing and
gave a sigh of relief, thinking, I’m safe.
I opened the door; the
light entered and again, I didn’t see any monsters. I stepped in, and squinted
my eyes to increase my vision, and looked from side to side. Believing there
were none, I placed the flask under the spigot and turned it. As the wine trickled
into it I became braver. I closed the spigot; stood and eased back into the
basement. I set the flask on the floor and closed the doors; I picked it up,
turned and walked to the light string. I held it in my hand and stretching it
as far as I could, to be closer to the stairs; I pulled the string, dousing the
light, ready to run to the stairs. Unknown to me my brother was at the top of
the stairs and as soon as the pull string light went out, he switched the other
light off and slammed the door.
Complete darkness―I was
blind. Where are the stairs? I crawled in the direction I believed they were.
It felt like an eternity before my eyes adjusted to the absence of light.
Groping along the floor I quickly came upon the first step. I stood and
stumbled in my excitement to go up the stairs; feared-filled thoughts entered
my mind. What if I spill the wine? I’ll
have to get more. I’ll have to go the top of the stairs, and turn on the light
and my brother would get another chance. I steadied myself and crawled on
my hands and knees to the top of the stairs, sweating. “Whew!” I uttered, and
thought, I survived. By the time I walked into the room, I recovered my
composure and gave the wine to the merrymakers. The flask was passed from one
to the other while I inched away never to be caught off guard again. Little did
they know how much bravery it took to perform such a simple task?
