A Different Kind of Christmas

When I was a young girl, I loved everything about Christmas. I loved writing out Christmas cards and shopping for presents. I loved how the newly waxed floors and polished furniture shined in our top floor apartment at 222 Degraw Street. I loved the magic of the whole family putting up the tree, setting up the nativity scene with its movable pieces, and hanging our A&S-embroidered stockings above the doorways since we did not have a fireplace. I loved listening to Christmas albums starting the day after Thanksgiving and watching all of the annual Christmas specials. I loved making struffoli and cookies with Steve and Eydie, Bing Crosby, or Jimmy Roselli playing softly in the background. My mom was able to put together the Feast of the Seven Fishes extravaganza in her teeny kitchen, using the fire escape as a backup refrigerator. It was usually just my parents, siblings, and me for the most magnificent meal of the year on Christmas Eve, with my dear Auntie Rie, my mom’s twin, joining us later in the evening after she got off her job as a check processor at Citibank. We would go to Midnight Mass at the long-gone Cabrini Chapel directly across the street and return home for some late-night struffoli and join my dad as he watched A Christmas Carol. My parents made every Christmas wonderful for us.

Then I became an adult and, with that, came marriage, the blessings of two beautiful little boys, and the responsibilities of working and taking care of my own home. Suddenly, I was having a hard time keeping up with Christmas. I have a much larger kitchen and a much larger refrigerator than my mom had, but I have yet to host a Christmas Eve like my mom did—although I do put together a fine Christmas Day meal, usually with the help of my mother-in-law.

People say all the time that life was much simpler in the old days and I have to agree. We had less but we had more: more simple pleasures, more appreciation, and maybe more time. I have tried to make Christmas wonderful for my family, too, but things just seem to have become excessive and complicated. I’m sure I am guilty, to a degree, of things becoming that way. Why am I dragging out every single decoration, every year? Why am I writing Christmas cards until the wee hours of the morning? Why in the world do I continue to wrap gifts for our cat, Buttercup? Why do I DVR Christmas movies and never find the time to watch them? And why do I continue to put up outdoor lights every single year when I know it will only result in a lot of cursing?

This year, we have an added and unprecedented complication, an actual pandemic. This certainly makes for a different Christmas for most of us, in addition to the regular holiday stress. My family has had to figure out how we can all quarantine so we can spend Christmas Eve at my sister’s, albeit with half of the usual extended family this time. We have to figure out how we are going to get the fish, the fresh mozzarella, the Italian bread, and all the other things we think we must have for our Christmas Eve feast, as well as any last minute gifts, without going into any stores in the 10 days before Christmas. I have to keep reminding my 93-year old mother-in-law that, no, she cannot go out for a pack of cigarettes until after Christmas.

For the first time in forever, I didn’t visit Macy’s to see the windows, walk up Fifth Avenue to see the tree, and finish up the day at St. Patrick’s to light candles and view the nativity with my best friend Laureen, but I have instead spoken to her pretty much every single week of this pandemic. And I’ve noticed something this season that I like to call a “pandemic plus”: because there are no parties or get-togethers to attend, no visits to make, I have been able to slow down somewhat and enjoy things a little bit more at home. I just watched an amazing Christmas concert featuring the phenomenal Christian Lee Branch from St. Paul/St. Agnes Parish that was live-streamed on Facebook, all in the comfort of my own kitchen. I could see realtime comments and practically hear the applause from my friends and neighbors. We were watching together even if we weren’t sitting in the church together and I was able to enjoy it without even having to step foot outside. This Saturday, I had a much calmer struffoli making session with my son Matty, just the two of us, with the usual Bing Crosby and Jimmy Roselli playing softly in the background on our old-fashioned record player.

Another pandemic plus is that my husband and I decided to do less shopping this year. Since there’s nowhere to go, what do we need? Certainly not any more hanging-around-the-house clothes. So we’ve decided to give to some local and non-local charities instead. It is the least we can do when so many people are in need this year and we are glad to be able to do it. Perhaps this pandemic is steering me back to a simpler holiday, like the ones of old.

Monsignor Massie at Sacred Hearts/St. Stephen Church has been stressing lately that you don’t find the true spirit of Christmas in a Hallmark card or in lavish holiday decorations, but in the birth of a baby, the Baby Jesus. He suggested that maybe "It's time for us to wake up to the community of humanity...that we are called to be people of compassion and mercy to each other." I’m really trying to focus on the true spirit of Christmas. If I can’t do it this year, then when will I ever be able to appreciate what really matters?

As I always do at Christmastime, I will be longing for loved ones who are no longer with us. I seem to miss them even more keenly lately. And, this year, I will also be missing some who are still here, but won’t be at the table beside us. Whatever or whoever we miss this year, I will remind myself that this is just one holiday, one year, that wearing masks and not being able to eat out, go to a movie or a game or a show or on vacation, or merely hug those you love, is just temporary. And I will remember, too, how fortunate I am to still have these traditions, even if they may be modified, to be able to afford to put a holiday dinner on the table, and to have survived this pandemic thus far. And, most importantly, I will remember the over 300,000 Americans who have not.

As my dear friend Susan told me right before Thanksgiving, “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, Laura, the vaccine is coming!” She was right; it is coming and I got all choked up last week watching the first nurse get vaccinated in New York. We just have to get through the tunnel to the other side. I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a safe journey through that tunnel to a healthy, happier 2021. God bless you all and keep you safe!