Christmas at 611- in the back row, my great aunt May, my father, and great aunt Zibby. In the front row, my brother Thom, me with my brother Eric on my lap, and my sister Cynthia.
Christmas Eve a few years ago - Thom, me, Ted, and Eric.
With my parents gone and my brother
Eric too, holidays are very poignant now and filled with memories. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas are also my birthday, Eric's birthday and Ted's birthday. And there was my mother's birthday and my grandmother's birthday. Eric loved Christmas and Christmas Eve. So it's a period that's filled with remembrances. During this time, I get flashes of people and bits of memories. We were always together at the holidays. I have a longing to be together again.
Christmas especially was a big occasion when I was growing up. My mother loved holidays and loved celebrating. I grew up in a little Cape Cod house in New Hartford, New York, until we moved to a bigger house across town. My mother made the house pretty at Christmas and there was always a lot of art on the walls. On Christmas Eve, my father's parents, Nanny and Grandpa, and his sister Betty came for dinner. My father's parents did not come to our house a lot, even though they lived close by in Utica, so it was an event. Every year in the living room we children put on a little musical skit, set to "The Little Drummer Boy," for instance. We had costumes and props, and as the oldest of four, I was the bossy director. Then dinner. My mother was not a cook and did not like to cook. You couldn't eat meat on Christmas Eve, and every year she served a dreadful crab meat casserole. She said, "Oh, the children are too excited to eat anyway." This was accompanied by green beans with almonds, for some green color. Dessert was a treat -- half a coconut-covered snow ball with a little piece of plastic ivy on top and a little candle.
After dinner, the lights were turned off and we sat around the colorfully illuminated Christmas tree and sang carols. Some years, during this time, the phone would ring and it would be Santa Claus calling. Singing around the tree in the darkened room was so peaceful and serene. "Silent Night" was my aunt Betty's favorite.
Christmas morning, Thom and I rose at the crack of dawn and rushed downstairs and tore through all our presents like little banshees. My mother would get us clothes and later in the morning we would try on the new clothes and they never fit - too big, too small, etc. "Jesus Christ, none of these clothes fit," my mother would cry in frustration. "Donna!" my father said. "Do not talk like that on Christmas Day!"
We got dressed for Christmas and the six of us piled into the station wagon to go to church to the gigantic, modern, cold St. John's the Evangelist in New Hartford. And after church we went to visit my great aunts at 611 West German Street, in nearby Herkimer, New York.
We didn't take the Thruway there, we took the back roads, so it was literally over the river and through the woods. I've written about 611 a lot so forgive if this is repetition. My mother's four aunts, Zibby, Milly, May and Kay, lived in the big Victorian house that they and their siblings, including my mother's mother Foffy, had grown up in. My great grandfather Dan O'Donnell, had emigrated with County Sligo in Ireland and worked as a railroad engineer on the Adirondack line. A trip to 611 was always a treat for me and the house had a big influence on me with it's high, high ceilings, antique furniture, marble fireplaces with a wood fire burning, piles of books and magazines and the Sunday New York Times (which was rare in upstate New York), and wonderful stories from my great aunts, particularly Milly who had gone to Cornell, lived in the Philippines, and loved to read. At Christmas, there was a tall tree covered with silver tinsel and a cocktail hour. Milly carried a shaker of a Whiskey Sours with her and she was always smoking a cigarette. Christmas dinner was around the big dining table in the dining room, and Milly sat at the head and directed the conversation. For me it was all dreamy. My great aunts adored us. There was never a word of criticism. They thought we were the best. It was unconditional love at 611, and everybody needs that.
At the end of the night, the six of us piled back into the station wagon and my father drove home. In the back, we children would pretend that we were asleep so that my father would carry us into the house.
I am lucky to have these memories, and to have been with both my father's family and my mother's family. My parents really did a good job at Christmas. And I'm lucky today to celebrate holidays with my spouse Ted and siblings Thom and Cynthia and family and friends. A season of gratitude. And remembering loved ones who I miss.
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