The 12 Essays of Christmas, Day 8: The food

“Christmas doesn't come from a store, maybe Christmas perhaps means a little bit more....” 
                                                                     ― Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas

AUBURN, Maine  —  It is the most delicious time of year.

It's the holiday season and whoop-dee-do — there's food everywhere. It's at work, on television, the Net, in your home and in your face.

You'll get a belly full of turkey, fish, stuffing and steamed vegetables this season. And there will be plenty of booze for hardcore drinkers who enjoy a holiday glow.

I enjoy a glass of wine, not the whole damn bottle. Becoming an alcoholic was never one of my aspirations in life.

There is no letup to this holiday smorgasbord until after January 1.

Start thinking about hitting the gym five times a day to prevent putting a spread on your midsection.

People want to give you food during the holidays. It comes in the mail. Guests charge through your door with cakes and chocolate. I like that, but I don't like looking like jolly old St. Nick by the time New Year's Eve rolls around.

Way back when I was little tyke running amok through the neighborhoods surrounding McClure Street in Revere, my grandmother started cooking for Christmas Eve — and day — on December 1.

She was preparing a 50-course meal for an entire month. She was armed with minced garlic and plenty of olive oil, and not the crap you purchase at department stores. This stuff probably came from Italy. Remember, a majority of Italians are masters of their domain in the kitchen, and nobody prepared baccala, which is salt cod, like my grandmother.

When Christmas Eve rolled around, thousands of relatives, actually about 30, showed up with pies and pizza gaynors, and the lavish feast would last several hours until bloated guests waddled toward the door.

During dinner in the basement of my grandmother's house, the adults were seated at a huge wooden table that could survive a nuclear blast. Guests engaged in verbal confrontations that could be mistaken for verbal abuse. Politics, celebrities, sports — all topics were up for discussion at the table.

First came the pasta - usually raviolis smothered in homemade meat sauce - and then the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn. Fish was also a big favorite. Scallops, shrimp and baccala were just at your fingertips.

I was surrounded by cousins and aunts who urged me to eat everything on my plate because a kid was starving in an unnamed country. I wanted to know this child's name so I could send him all that unfinished food.

Nobody told me!

We talked about Santa Claus during one feast, and I found out that Santa didn't exist, which broke my heart.

Years later, my grandmother would allow me to take a sip of Anisette or wine at the dinner table.

Those memories of spectacular feasts are over 30 years old. Nearly all of those holiday guests are dead, but thoughts of them always reappear during Christmas. I refuse to allow time to take them away from me.

The last time there was a snowstorm on Christmas day in the Boston area, I believe, was in 1969. Snow made that holiday feast that much more special for me. A white Christmas, good food, and the comfort and security of being surrounded by loving relatives —  what more could a child of nine ask for?

Can't thank them enough

Mom and son getting ready for Halloween.

"To grow old is to lose everything," 

- the opening line to a poem called "Affirmation," which was written 

by poet Donald Hall

AUBURN, Mass. — Money is tight, the world is a damn mess, our leaders don't know what day it is, and there is a pile of snow on my front lawn that is really pissing me off, and yet, I do have a lot to be thankful for as I pass the peas and gnaw on a turkey leg this Thanksgiving.

And while Mother Nature's hit-and-run tactics are befuddling and the cold is closing in, I am lucky there will be a hot meal on the table and my healthy son and wife will be seated next me as we enjoy my sister's fine cooking and the company of her wonderful children.

I am older and I have lost a handful people along the way, and the holidays have a way of triggering those strong and sad memories of family members and friends who will not be present at our feast this Thanksgiving.

And it really hurts, especially since Terri and I buried our mothers last year. That pain never goes away, but when I see my wife and son laughing and enjoying good food, it makes me realize why I am still here, and I don't plan on going anywhere.

For years, my dad and I would spend Thanksgiving mornings watching Revere and Winthrop knock heads on the gridiron while my mom was multi-tasking over a hot stove long before anyone knew what the hell multi-tasking was. She was cooking turkey, potatoes, carrots and stuffing while father and son were freezing their butts off at Paul Revere Stadium.

I am older now and now I am doing the cooking. My dad and I no longer attend Thanksgiving Day football games because he is older. My mother is gone.

I miss those moments and those people who meant so much to me.

But I know I am helpless when the Grim Reaper snatches another friend or relative from this life.

For years, there were nearly 15 relatives living next to my house. It was like one giant block party on McClure Street during the holidays. Each Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve, I would move from house to house, enjoying my grandmother's or aunts' culinary delights and making sure I shared a glass of wine at each stop.

Like me, the street has changed and all I have are fond memories. Those homes are no longer occupied by my grandmother, Aunt Minnie, B.J. and Eddie Murano, and the Grossos. 

Before Anthony came along, my wife and I excitedly packed up the car and headed from Maine to Massachusetts to see my relatives during the holidays. The aunts would hand Terri small gifts while I sampled the wine and food and listened to my uncle, who was a top-notch pilot during World War II and Korea, talk about his combat experiences.

But I am older now and they are a part of my past. I understand change is inevitable, but there is pain that comes with change.

But one thing that will never change is my love and appreciation for my wife and son, and immediate family.

And they are the reasons why I give thanks on this day.