The Traditions and the Families We Take for Granted

As far as I can remember, Christmas and New Year’s Eve celebrations were depressing for kids unless it snowed heavily and they could go sledding, ice skating in the streets, and having snowball fights with all the children residing in the apartment complex. Being stuck in a cold apartment, layered to the hilt to stay warm, with nothing to do except read, was really miserable for most kids. We wanted to be outdoors.

It was depressing to watch our parents struggle to find food to cook a special meal for Christmas, for the New Year, and to make ends meet on small state salaries. We were too young, but we understood the word “no” and the phrase, “we can’t afford it.” There was more food in the stores provided for the masses, but the lines were still endless.

Dad always found a small Christmas tree which brought into our small apartment the fragrant essence of fir, bright, shiny colors, and cheer. The kitchen smelled like roasted chicken and pork chops, potatoes, fried sausages made by grandpa, mamaliga (polenta made with yellow corn meal), and mom’s special cornulete (little horns) baked with walnuts, cocoa, sunflower oil, and powdered sugar.

When mom could find beef, she made us a special salad called salata de Boeuf, boiled chopped beef, boiled and chopped potatoes, green peas, and mixed with homemade mayonnaise. The job of mixing the eggs until the mayo took shape was mine on account of my young hands and arms which did not get tired and achy as quickly. We did not have a mixer and frankly, I had never seen one until I came to the United States as an adult. I had never seen any other kitchen appliance or vacuums that most people in the West took for granted.

Mom also made a special Christmas bread, cozonac, with Turkish delights and chopped walnuts folded in cocoa. The loaf was drizzled with a mixture of egg and butter, and it smelled divine while baking in the gas oven.

We were not drinkers, but dad brought home for the holidays two bottles of wine and some plum brandy or rum. It was a tradition to toast the New Year with a full glass of wine in hopes that life in the coming year would be easier and good health and luck would prevail.

We went to grandma’s Orthodox Church in the village on Christmas Eve. When the mass ended, the congregation circled the church three times with burning candles in celebration of Jesus’s birth. The church was empty throughout the year, save for the older ladies in the village who attended regular services, but during Christmas and Easter the church was always full. Those who mustered the courage to attend came to church to praise the birth of Jesus and to pray for a better life.

People shared their extra holiday food with the less fortunate, those alone, sick, widowed, or left without any family.

Christmas time was for families to be home with their loved ones and New Year’s Eve was the time to have a party with the extended family, usually in the country where food and drink was more plentiful. People had gardens and canned a lot, and some raised pigs to feed many at Christmas. It was the time of the year when we had the most protein and everyone shared in the bounty.

Holidays became more sedate as the years flew by and we got older. We have plenty of food now but fewer and fewer people to share it with. The Christmas tree seems lonely without the laughter of children. There is no Bogart to drink the tree water and to sleep under the low hanging ornaments and the twinkling lights. He crossed the Rainbow Bridge five years ago.

Mom died a year and a half ago and her loss changed our lives fundamentally. She was our matriarch, the super glue that kept our small family together. Her happy spirit is always with us. She is finally reunited with my dad in Heaven.

Our people have scattered around the world, with their own families, unable to visit their loved ones. Many passed away. Gone are the times when the children remained in the same village or even the same town with their parents. They have dispersed everywhere for better opportunities and to build their own homes, seldom returning to the place they were born in or spent their formative years.

It is true, you can never go back home, you will not find what you were looking for because life has moved on, but the Christmas traditions we once took for granted will endure no matter where we are, and so will the memories.