Happiest of holidays to all my lovely readers. May your holiday be stress free and filled with good food, good company and all the things that make you happy. <3
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Sold
My Grandma's house sold this week. I've had a hard time wrapping my hairdo around how I feel about that. On the one hand, it needed to sell. Grandma's been gone for coming on three years now and with no one living there, it was just sucking money. On the other hand, it's a part of our family history and it's sad to let it go.
Christmas at Grandma's was something to behold. This little woman, and I only mean that literally, because to me she was larger than life, did tremendous things in that basement kitchen. Like most old world Italians, a second kitchen in the basement was a must. Her house was small but she managed to fit about 30 of us at a long table on the other side of the basement, for Christmas dinner (and also for Easter brunch). And once you were in your seat, don't even think about getting up. You were there for the duration of the meal. And what a meal! Is there anything better than Grandma's food? I honestly don't think there is. And Christmas was the crowning glory. She made everything from scratch... sausage, sauce, cavatelli, meatballs, bread. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
She would start at least a month in advance making the cavatelli by hand and then freezing them. She made over 30 pounds, usually by herself. That's a lot of cavatelli. But she would never ever not have enough. It would be a disgrace to not have enough food for your guests. And believe me, she never ever ran out of food. She also made pounds and pounds of her own pork sausage, meatballs, and loaves of bread. Everything was perfect and delicious. Funny thing, she hated ground beef. Absolutely hated it. She always said it went back to the days of the Depression when ground beef was the only meat they could get. Once things got better she never ate ground beef again. But she had to make sure the meatballs were good so she would try a little piece of the raw meat after she seasoned it to make sure it was good and seasoned properly. She also made veal cutlets when times were good, pork cutlets when times were a little harder.
The table is already set and has been for about a month. So come in and take your seat. Just turn your plate over since it's upside down, she didn't want dust in her food and setting the table that far in advance that was a possibility. Pass your bowl down and she will give you a handful of salad. Yes, literally a handful. Don't worry, she's clean. And the salad is as perfect as everything else, dressed simply with olive oil and red wine vinegar, some salt and pepper and dried basil and oregano.
The main event is coming and everyone is buzzing with anticipation. The room is loud with all the conversations going. But we can't wait to sink our teeth into those succulent pillows of flavor. The sauce had been cooking all day and the aroma in the house is intoxicating. I could drink her sauce by the glass, it's so good. And suddenly my uncle gets up and pulls out a chair and turns it around. Then he goes out into the kitchen and returns with a huge restaurant size pan of piping hot cavatelli with just the perfect amount of sauce on it and sets it on the chair. Grandma appears then, apron still on and small sauce pan in hand. And one by one we send our dishes down to her and she scoops that little pan into the cavatelli and pours it on each plate. They are then sent back around the table until everyone has some.
Grandma disappears back into the kitchen with my mom and uncle and they come out with bowls and bowls of sausage, meatballs, neckbones, pigsfeet and those veal or pork cutlets and set them in different parts of the long table. Back to the kitchen to get bowls of extra sauce in case anyone wants some, baskets of fresh from the oven bread and bowls of grated Parmesan. Everyone passes bowls around, takes what they want and when we are finally all seated and have our food, the youngest family member is asked to say grace. And then, finally we eat! The loud raucous conversations die out completely because everyone is too busy basking in the joy of this meal we have once a year. Wine is pouring freely into the glasses and everyone is full of the joy of being together and eating.
Once everyone has had their fill and then some, it's pretty much a given everyone will over indulge, Grandma, who has barely eaten because she is so consumed with everyone else eating, goes back into the kitchen and comes out with a big platter of raw vegetables. Carrots, radishes, celery and of course, finocchio (or fennel). It's an important part of the meal, having that finocchio, a digestive. Especially back in the days when I was a small child. Back then, after this feast I just described and then after the veggies, Grandma would then come out with a full roasted capon, potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Hardly anyone ever ate the second meal after having the huge pasta feast so eventually she stopped making it.
It's memories like this that make me know I will forever miss that house, like I miss her. She was my heart. Losing her was the most awful thing ever even though I knew she wasn't going to live forever. She was 99 when she left this earth, 3 weeks before her 100th birthday. A beautiful soul that I was so lucky to have in my life as long as I did. Even though it feels like it was not enough.
She's gone and when the house closes it will be gone too. And it will be final, really really final. And all at once it makes me so very sad and yet, it makes me glad too. Because not all the memories in that house are happy ones. But that is another story for another day. Today I want to remember how much I loved her, always, how much I miss her, how much I loved her cooking and any time I could be around her.
Christmas at Grandma's was something to behold. This little woman, and I only mean that literally, because to me she was larger than life, did tremendous things in that basement kitchen. Like most old world Italians, a second kitchen in the basement was a must. Her house was small but she managed to fit about 30 of us at a long table on the other side of the basement, for Christmas dinner (and also for Easter brunch). And once you were in your seat, don't even think about getting up. You were there for the duration of the meal. And what a meal! Is there anything better than Grandma's food? I honestly don't think there is. And Christmas was the crowning glory. She made everything from scratch... sausage, sauce, cavatelli, meatballs, bread. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
She would start at least a month in advance making the cavatelli by hand and then freezing them. She made over 30 pounds, usually by herself. That's a lot of cavatelli. But she would never ever not have enough. It would be a disgrace to not have enough food for your guests. And believe me, she never ever ran out of food. She also made pounds and pounds of her own pork sausage, meatballs, and loaves of bread. Everything was perfect and delicious. Funny thing, she hated ground beef. Absolutely hated it. She always said it went back to the days of the Depression when ground beef was the only meat they could get. Once things got better she never ate ground beef again. But she had to make sure the meatballs were good so she would try a little piece of the raw meat after she seasoned it to make sure it was good and seasoned properly. She also made veal cutlets when times were good, pork cutlets when times were a little harder.
The table is already set and has been for about a month. So come in and take your seat. Just turn your plate over since it's upside down, she didn't want dust in her food and setting the table that far in advance that was a possibility. Pass your bowl down and she will give you a handful of salad. Yes, literally a handful. Don't worry, she's clean. And the salad is as perfect as everything else, dressed simply with olive oil and red wine vinegar, some salt and pepper and dried basil and oregano.
The main event is coming and everyone is buzzing with anticipation. The room is loud with all the conversations going. But we can't wait to sink our teeth into those succulent pillows of flavor. The sauce had been cooking all day and the aroma in the house is intoxicating. I could drink her sauce by the glass, it's so good. And suddenly my uncle gets up and pulls out a chair and turns it around. Then he goes out into the kitchen and returns with a huge restaurant size pan of piping hot cavatelli with just the perfect amount of sauce on it and sets it on the chair. Grandma appears then, apron still on and small sauce pan in hand. And one by one we send our dishes down to her and she scoops that little pan into the cavatelli and pours it on each plate. They are then sent back around the table until everyone has some.
Grandma disappears back into the kitchen with my mom and uncle and they come out with bowls and bowls of sausage, meatballs, neckbones, pigsfeet and those veal or pork cutlets and set them in different parts of the long table. Back to the kitchen to get bowls of extra sauce in case anyone wants some, baskets of fresh from the oven bread and bowls of grated Parmesan. Everyone passes bowls around, takes what they want and when we are finally all seated and have our food, the youngest family member is asked to say grace. And then, finally we eat! The loud raucous conversations die out completely because everyone is too busy basking in the joy of this meal we have once a year. Wine is pouring freely into the glasses and everyone is full of the joy of being together and eating.
Once everyone has had their fill and then some, it's pretty much a given everyone will over indulge, Grandma, who has barely eaten because she is so consumed with everyone else eating, goes back into the kitchen and comes out with a big platter of raw vegetables. Carrots, radishes, celery and of course, finocchio (or fennel). It's an important part of the meal, having that finocchio, a digestive. Especially back in the days when I was a small child. Back then, after this feast I just described and then after the veggies, Grandma would then come out with a full roasted capon, potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Hardly anyone ever ate the second meal after having the huge pasta feast so eventually she stopped making it.
It's memories like this that make me know I will forever miss that house, like I miss her. She was my heart. Losing her was the most awful thing ever even though I knew she wasn't going to live forever. She was 99 when she left this earth, 3 weeks before her 100th birthday. A beautiful soul that I was so lucky to have in my life as long as I did. Even though it feels like it was not enough.
She's gone and when the house closes it will be gone too. And it will be final, really really final. And all at once it makes me so very sad and yet, it makes me glad too. Because not all the memories in that house are happy ones. But that is another story for another day. Today I want to remember how much I loved her, always, how much I miss her, how much I loved her cooking and any time I could be around her.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
You and Me, We Disagree
My brother B and I are less than a year and a half apart in age and world's apart in every other way. When we were at dear old St. W grade school, he played the part of the big brother and he stood up for me when I was picked on. And in high school, when he started driving, I got rides to school with him. His friends were nicer to me than he was by then. In fact, I dated one of his friends for awhile. It didn't work out. D was as possessive as they come and even at the tender age of 16, I knew damn well no guy was going to control me.
So we fast forward to our adult lives. You've already read some about my path. His was completely different. Out of all four of us siblings, he was the only one to finish college. He majored in Theology and became a religion teacher in Catholic high schools and has since worked his way up to Assistant Principal at the high school he works for in Florida. Yes, a much much different path than me. He's also on his third wife.
When he was married to his second wife, T, we shared a duplex. They lived on the bottom, N and I on top. I can't remember how long we lived there, two years maybe, and not once did we go out to dinner or have movie night together or do anything at all socially. Not once. When T was away, B would make a beeline up to our place to hang out and talk. So yeah, I guess T didn't like us... well me. There is no reason to dislike N. I can come up with lots of reasons to hate me, and apparently she did. It matters not, chick turned out to be a total psycho anyway. She may get her own blog post someday. Ahh the stories!
B and I though, we have nothing in common, other than the fact that we come from the same family. We argue about politics, about abortion, about religion. He is self righteous and a pompous asshole. He is always right. He is the golden boy who can do no wrong in the eyes of our parents. When he speaks, they listen. That shit really frosts my ass because it's me who's here, doing everything for them. When we had to have a ramp built onto our existing deck to accommodate dad's wheel chair, we couldn't afford the $1800 price tag. We had already bought them a bed, a TV, had the driveway paved and the bathroom modified. So I went to my brothers and sister for help. At the time, my sister was struggling financially but she said she would do what she could. J, as always, was more than willing to help. B flat out said no. He said this was my parents responsibility and he would not contribute. I was pretty stunned, but not as stunned as I soon would be. This is when B gave me "the speech." It went something like this... "Mom and dad are now your responsibility. If they need something, you have to take care of it. It's not my problem. Don't come to me." That's mom's golden boy. Mom ended up getting the money from Grandma for the ramp.
I spared my mom the knowledge of this conversation for a long time. I figured she wouldn't have believed me anyway. Case in point... many years ago, I was out of work. It was getting to be Christmastime and I didn't have any money so I bowed out of gift giving that year. In previous years, and in years since, other members of my family have done this. When one of us bows out, we all bow out. That is, unless it's me bowing out. Then they just skip me and buy for everyone else. If my sister bows out? No one buys for anyone. If either of my brothers bow out? No one buys for anyone. But yeah, when I bow out, oh well... too bad so sad. I guess it has something to do with being youngest? I don't know. So it was one of those years where I bowed out. Admittedly I was sad, not because I wasn't receiving. I don't care about that ever. But I love buying something unexpected and seeing the look of surprise and joy on someones face. Fuck your lists, if I can't figure out what to buy my own damn sister, then I'm pretty lame. So I was sad. I had to sit there and watch everyone give and receive (I had a few things from parents, parents always buy no matter what). I wasn't crying, I wasn't making any kind of fuss. I was just a little sad. B grabbed my arm and pulled me aside and said words I will never ever forget, "why don't you just fucking leave. Nobody wants you here." I looked at him like he was nuts and said, "what?" He said, "you heard me, get the fuck out." You don't have to tell me a third time, I turned around and started for the door, tears rolling down my face. My mom asked where I was going and I said, "leaving." She freaked out and tried to stop me. I told her, "your son told me to get the fuck out, so I'm going." She didn't believe me. Her angel would never say such a thing! He did. And I left. I went to N's house. We were dating at the time, and had the breakdown of all breakdowns.
A month later it was my birthday and that was the first time I saw the whole family again after that hellish Christmas. B was there. He came over to me, looked at me and then punched me in the arm playfully and walked away. That was apparently my apology since I never got a verbal one. Seriously, is it so hard to say you're wrong? To say "I'm sorry I hurt you"? To say, "geez I was such an ass and I'm sorry"? To say anything that would make it better? Resentment can last a long long time so why not make the effort to make things right? I know I've had to eat the proverbial piece of humble pie now and then. And while I don't enjoy it, it's infinitely better than damaging a relationship irreparably. If I'm aware of a hurt I've caused, I do try to make it right if that person matters to me at all. And if I don't know, or seem oblivious, I hope the hurt party will tell me so I can make it right.
B and I will probably never get along, but we do talk to each other now and again. He likes to call me if he has a question about food or if he's made something he found particularly good. He likes to call me if one of his friends did something really really stupid and we get a good laugh. We talk maybe four or five times a year. I'm fine with it. In the end the fact is, he doesn't know me at all and would rather make his assumptions about me and my life. Maybe I'm doing the same thing, but after being on the receiving end of the two incidents I just told you about, I don't think I am.
So we fast forward to our adult lives. You've already read some about my path. His was completely different. Out of all four of us siblings, he was the only one to finish college. He majored in Theology and became a religion teacher in Catholic high schools and has since worked his way up to Assistant Principal at the high school he works for in Florida. Yes, a much much different path than me. He's also on his third wife.
When he was married to his second wife, T, we shared a duplex. They lived on the bottom, N and I on top. I can't remember how long we lived there, two years maybe, and not once did we go out to dinner or have movie night together or do anything at all socially. Not once. When T was away, B would make a beeline up to our place to hang out and talk. So yeah, I guess T didn't like us... well me. There is no reason to dislike N. I can come up with lots of reasons to hate me, and apparently she did. It matters not, chick turned out to be a total psycho anyway. She may get her own blog post someday. Ahh the stories!
B and I though, we have nothing in common, other than the fact that we come from the same family. We argue about politics, about abortion, about religion. He is self righteous and a pompous asshole. He is always right. He is the golden boy who can do no wrong in the eyes of our parents. When he speaks, they listen. That shit really frosts my ass because it's me who's here, doing everything for them. When we had to have a ramp built onto our existing deck to accommodate dad's wheel chair, we couldn't afford the $1800 price tag. We had already bought them a bed, a TV, had the driveway paved and the bathroom modified. So I went to my brothers and sister for help. At the time, my sister was struggling financially but she said she would do what she could. J, as always, was more than willing to help. B flat out said no. He said this was my parents responsibility and he would not contribute. I was pretty stunned, but not as stunned as I soon would be. This is when B gave me "the speech." It went something like this... "Mom and dad are now your responsibility. If they need something, you have to take care of it. It's not my problem. Don't come to me." That's mom's golden boy. Mom ended up getting the money from Grandma for the ramp.
I spared my mom the knowledge of this conversation for a long time. I figured she wouldn't have believed me anyway. Case in point... many years ago, I was out of work. It was getting to be Christmastime and I didn't have any money so I bowed out of gift giving that year. In previous years, and in years since, other members of my family have done this. When one of us bows out, we all bow out. That is, unless it's me bowing out. Then they just skip me and buy for everyone else. If my sister bows out? No one buys for anyone. If either of my brothers bow out? No one buys for anyone. But yeah, when I bow out, oh well... too bad so sad. I guess it has something to do with being youngest? I don't know. So it was one of those years where I bowed out. Admittedly I was sad, not because I wasn't receiving. I don't care about that ever. But I love buying something unexpected and seeing the look of surprise and joy on someones face. Fuck your lists, if I can't figure out what to buy my own damn sister, then I'm pretty lame. So I was sad. I had to sit there and watch everyone give and receive (I had a few things from parents, parents always buy no matter what). I wasn't crying, I wasn't making any kind of fuss. I was just a little sad. B grabbed my arm and pulled me aside and said words I will never ever forget, "why don't you just fucking leave. Nobody wants you here." I looked at him like he was nuts and said, "what?" He said, "you heard me, get the fuck out." You don't have to tell me a third time, I turned around and started for the door, tears rolling down my face. My mom asked where I was going and I said, "leaving." She freaked out and tried to stop me. I told her, "your son told me to get the fuck out, so I'm going." She didn't believe me. Her angel would never say such a thing! He did. And I left. I went to N's house. We were dating at the time, and had the breakdown of all breakdowns.
A month later it was my birthday and that was the first time I saw the whole family again after that hellish Christmas. B was there. He came over to me, looked at me and then punched me in the arm playfully and walked away. That was apparently my apology since I never got a verbal one. Seriously, is it so hard to say you're wrong? To say "I'm sorry I hurt you"? To say, "geez I was such an ass and I'm sorry"? To say anything that would make it better? Resentment can last a long long time so why not make the effort to make things right? I know I've had to eat the proverbial piece of humble pie now and then. And while I don't enjoy it, it's infinitely better than damaging a relationship irreparably. If I'm aware of a hurt I've caused, I do try to make it right if that person matters to me at all. And if I don't know, or seem oblivious, I hope the hurt party will tell me so I can make it right.
B and I will probably never get along, but we do talk to each other now and again. He likes to call me if he has a question about food or if he's made something he found particularly good. He likes to call me if one of his friends did something really really stupid and we get a good laugh. We talk maybe four or five times a year. I'm fine with it. In the end the fact is, he doesn't know me at all and would rather make his assumptions about me and my life. Maybe I'm doing the same thing, but after being on the receiving end of the two incidents I just told you about, I don't think I am.
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