What does the Winter Holiday mean to me?

What does the Winter Holiday mean to me?

Family, food, and love. My parents lived in the same hometown they grew up in and their place became the hub for both sides of the family gatherings. Reunions. Deaths. Holidays everyone came to our house. Dad had three brothers and a sister, Mom had one of each, add in their children and later the grandchildren and we had a packed house. That was okay since when Dad built the house he made it on the large size. Oh, I didn’t mention my Dad was a carpenter, not a construction worker, a real honest to goodness carpenter. He built the majority of the houses in our neighborhood, too.

I digress, family that’s what I think of during this time of the year, and food. My Dad did a wonderful turkey, his brother Walter being a butcher would bring T-bone steaks for everyone even us younger ones. Mom made this fantastic Oyster Soufflé which I’ve incorporated into our holiday traditions. Oh, and Aunt Jenny married to Dad’s baby brother Frank made these out of the world noodles and beef bits. Mom’s older sister Lois, Aunt Sissy to all, made the best brownies with nuts. Aunt Sally, married to Mom’s brother taught me later in life how to eat chocolate and drink beer. Aunt Sally was the fun aunt, you received two gifts from her one practical like pjs or underwear and one fun gift, usual a toy Mom said we couldn’t have.

Of course we had our honorary Aunt Rosalie and Uncle Van and their kids Susan and Tim. Uncle Van loved to hunt, rabbits and squirrels but his family wasn’t crazy about the meat. That was fine by me as that was my Christmas present. He’d collect several of each then bring them to our house. Mom would fry those critters up, make some mash potatoes, from real potatoes, and gravy from the drippings, oh, my, that was a meal.

I know some people are going nuts since I’m an animal lover and you’re asking how could I eat those cute little animals. Easy, with mash potatoes and gravy. I come from a time when there was more to eat than beef, chicken, and fish all neatly wrapped up in plastic. Like fresh caught fish from the nearby lake or streams, venison from hunters who like the thrill of the chase but not the meat. Then there was mutton raised by a local meat market, and if the groundhogs threatened the fields with holes where cattle and sheep ran, those ground dwellers got to say hi to mash potatoes and gravy, too.

Again I digress, I’m talking about family. My adopted parents were 37 and 40 when they adopted me, the four years they added a son to the family. They’d waited sixteen years to have children so that made our first cousins ten, fifteen and twenty years older than us. Their children were ten and fifteen years younger than my brother and me. Oh, my, were we spoiled, treated like a little princess and prince, and we appreciated it. At Christmas time they put together many of our presents and didn’t tell Mom and Day when we snuck out to help. They taught us how to play board games, endure dress-up, my older cousins consisted of four boys and two girls, raced cars over the floor and took us outside to play in the snow. I loved listening to the grownups when they didn’t think I was. The tall tales the men would tell and the history lessons on who was who in the area. Those gruff men who several served in WWII taught me to be polite to my elders but not to take any guff from them either. That advice actually helped me with all the jobs I’ve ever worked. My Mother’s advice of “kill them with kindness” helped, too when dealing with rude people.

Dad all ways purchased our Christmas tree from the VFW and each year. We made a day of it, going to the barber in the front of the building so Dad could get his hair cut while my brother and I read comics. Then we went inside to have lunch, after that we picked out our tree. The one year Mom was working she’d hidden our presents in the trunk of the car. Dad gave me the keys to open it while he and my brother dragged the tree to the back of the car. I open the trunk, saw the gifts and slammed the lid shut. It took Dad a minute to catch on when he did we then crammed a full size tree in the back seat of a Buick Skylark.

Dad grew up during the depression and remembered when things were really tough so we went to a local store picked out a present for a boy and a girl. Those items we wrapped and took to the children’s home in our town. Dad taught us to give when we can and where we can, time or money both are appreciated.

We had a huge fireplace and I learned early that wrapping paper should not be thrown in there. The fireplace to this day still has the scorch marks up the front of it and one of my cousins took the blame. I came clean before they left to go home, guilt is a nasty thing.

A couple of my cousins listened to my stories and later read my first creative endeavors. Those writings were simple but they treated them like classics when reading them. They gave me advice on storyline and encouraged me to keep at it.

Years have gone by and Dad and Mom have passed. The Aunts and Uncles all but Aunt Rosalie have gone to that eternal sleep. I keep checking in with her since she’ll be ninety soon. The first cousins are still here with us and so are the seconds, but we’re all scattered to the wind. Email and FaceBook help us stay somewhat connected but it’s not the same. No one hunts or fishes anymore and we’re all trying to eat healthy now days, lucky for me and my waist I never learned to make gravy like Mom.

Today my cousins tell me they’re thrilled to have an author in the family, I appreciate the ego boost, but these are the same people that call still call me Baby J.

In the end that’s what family does they love you, feed you, protect you and sometimes brag about you.

J. Paulette Forshey