Christmas Eve at Nonny's

Nonny--my Grandmother Vespo-- was the perfect grandmother. She never criticized you—ever. She only had love. And she loved each of her family members equally. She did not have favorites. And although she was not wealthy in monetary terms she gave unendingly. Nonny’s wealth lied in the abundance of love she felt and shared with her family.

As the youngest grandchild of the youngest daughter, my family perspective and experience differed from my older cousins---especially on holidays---especially on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve at my grandmother’s 3 room walk up apartment in the Bronx only ever included my Aunts and their families. None of the Zi-zi’s or Aunt Jean’s or Uncle Joe’s families were ever there to my recollection. Nineteen people was enough.

I do not remember a big fish dinner prepared by my grandmother. She was too old to put in all that effort by the time I met my first memories. But what we did eat on Christmas Eve was every child’s fantasy. We ate pizza from Sorrento’s—the local pizzeria-restaurant. It was the best pizza I ever ate. There were boxes and boxes of pizza—some plain, some with anchovy and some that just had marinara sauce because my Aunt Jackie did not eat cheese. And I know that Nonny prepared side dishes of baccala and calamari but little kids do not eat that—that was for the grown-ups to enjoy.

And all the cousins stood around and ate in the tiny kitchen at the chrome and formica table with red vinyl chairs. I got to sit on the special step stool that converted to a chair---it was a prized seat.

And Nonny would only concern herself that we had eaten enough. She would ask how many slices we consumed and then we would lie—we wanted her to believe we had eaten more than our quota just to please her.

And when dinner was finished the grown-ups did a grab bag while we children waited patiently to get to the good part—our gifts. When the gift giving was over we ate pastry from A and M bakery or Prestano’s on White Plains Road.—cannolis,  sfogliatalle and strufoli. Sometimes my mother made homemade cream puffs or cassadettas.

It was wonderful.

And when it was over we drove back home to the suburbs enjoying all the Christmas lights along the way. I often wore newly received flannel pajamas with my patent leather shoes for the car ride.

And then we waited for Santa to come.

But somehow Christmas day always paled to Christmas Eve—even though Santa had not yet arrived. Our greatest Christmas gift was the time spent with family on December 24th. It was the jocular atmosphere and anticipation. It was Nonny’s laugh when she opened her gift. It was the yule log playing on an 8 inch black and white TV sitting on top of the refinished mosaic tiled top liquor cabinet. It was the manger arranged on the TV console cabinet with the empty crèche that Grandpa laid some cotton in so baby Jesus would be comfortable when he arrived.

Christmas was always about Christmas Eve at Nonny’s.

And Christmas is still all about Christmas Eve—although now it is spent at my brother’s house.  We have a traditional fish and seafood dinner followed by gift giving and strufoli and Julia’s cookies. It is still about laughter and anticipation and my brother reading from Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. We enjoy a roaring fire from his electronic fireplace instead of the channel 11 yule log. And when my girls were little they wore their new flannel pajamas home with their black patent leather Mary Jane shoes just like I did.

Christmas Eve is still all so special. It is still all so magical. And while physically absent, Nonny is still there—watching approvingly--- without criticism--- and with endless love.

Merry Christmas to all my friends and family---may you keep Nonny’s  love with you all through the year. And remember: wherever you find love, it feels like Christmas.