Welcome to the Christmas edition of the Italian Roots Newsletter. This month we highlight Christmas past. Every month we will highlight our latest YouTube interviews, guest contributors, book reviews and recipes. With premium membership we will post our family recipes, lessons special, offers and more. Please subscribe at the bottom of the page.

Growing up there was always the anticipation of Christmas Day. For me the season started Dec. 6th the feast day of St. Nicholas. Mainly because my paternal grandmother always sent my dad a name day card. Also, we always got a small gift from St. Nick that day. I remember going to Main St. in College Point to find a tree in the cold and dark. I think the trees were only about five or ten dollars back then. Often, the tree spent a few days in the back yard before dad would bring it in and set it up. We, like most those days, had the big bulbs that would screw in, one good thing, you never had to hunt for the bad bulb. My parents  had a lot of mismatched ornaments, and one day I asked why? My mom explained that when my parents got married in 1944, glass and the other materials used to make ornaments were in short supply, so their families gave them ornaments for their first tree. By the way, my specialty was the tinsel! Is that still a thing?

Christmas Eve we got to select one gift to open, and of course left the cookies and milk for Santa. My parents always went to my maternal grandmother’s house on Christmas Eve. I didn’t get to go until I was about seventeen. There were like fifty people packed in to about 300 square feet. Once you got in the front door it was everyone for themselves. And people were eating! I do recall occasionally going to midnight mass and/or telling my parents I did.

I was always the first one up on Christmas morning and had to sit around and wait! There are two toys that stand put from the early 1960’s, slot car racers and this neat helicopter that flew. Of course it only went in circles on a boom, but never the less, it was loads of fun. Prior to 1961, when my dad’s mom was alive, we would go there. She lived in a two family house with my godparents, my aunt Emily and uncle Connie. I was always special to them. They had a working fireplace and Santa would always show up to hand out the secret Santa gifts. After that we would go to my mom’s mom, who lived with my Uncle Frank and Aunt Dolly ( it was not as chaotic Christmas Day ). Aunt Dolly had the greatest nativity scene, there would usually be at least two Joseph’s and Mary’s, a baby Jesus bigger than them, assorted animals of various sizes and maybe a skier passing through. Uncle Frank would alway’s get several old spice products and wallets, as that’s what Aunt Dolly would tell everyone to bring. 

Before Christmas, the excitement in our household would build as my father set out on a mission to find the perfect tree. Armed with explicit instructions from Mom – not too tall, not too wide, and fresh – my father and I embarked on the quest for the ideal Christmas tree. We'd visit familiar vendors, where my father, a connoisseur of evergreens, would carefully inspect each tree, rotating it to assess its perfection from every angle. Once the chosen one was found, it would be strapped to the roof of his trusty '49 Chevy, ready to transform our living room into a festive wonderland.

 Back home, my father meticulously prepared the tree, sawing off the trunk's base and removing excess lower boughs. The discarded branches found a new purpose in the hands of my Nonna, Giuseppina. With her skilled touch, she fashioned an annual Christmas creche – an arched structure adorned with pine boughs, serving as the backdrop for a nativity scene with figurines of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Wise Men. Beneath this symbolic tableau, the family's carefully wrapped presents awaited their unveiling on Christmas day. 

Our three-story home, owned by my grandparents, housed multiple generations – Nonna and Nonno on the first floor, us on the second, and my uncle and aunt on the third. The 'perfect' tree took pride of place in our parlor, adorned with old-fashioned large lights, incandescent colored bulbs, cherished ornaments, and tinsel.

As Christmas Eve arrived, my sister and I hung our stockings on the wall behind the kitchen stove, the makeshift fireplace of our apartment. The evening unfolded as "the feast of the seven fishes," a seafood extravaganza owing to my father's angling prowess. Striped bass, trout, bluefish fillets, swordfish steaks, eels, squid, smelts – an oceanic bounty prepared by Mom for the traditional dinner. Nonna added her special touch with pesce baccala zuppa, a dried cod concoction that filled the air with a distinctive aroma as it cooked.

Christmas morning dawned with eager anticipation. Before our parents rose, we delved into the treasures of our stockings, discovering small toys, candy, nuts, an orange, and a little money. Once the entire family was awake, we entered the living room to unveil Santa's gifts. The ritual began with practical presents – clothes – before diving into the exciting world of toys: fishing gear, boots, a BB gun for me, and dolls with a dollhouse for my sister.

When we arrived at Nonna and Nonno's, we received more gifts courtesy of our generous Aunt and Uncle from Cleveland, Ohio. The day continued with visits to other grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and we accumulated more presents along the way.

Dinner was a feast for the senses – roast chicken, lasagna, and Sicilian-style stuffed artichokes accompanied by antipasto. For dessert, there were delights like "Zuppa Inglese" cake or the beloved "New England Ice Box Pudding," a graham cracker masterpiece. Mom's repertoire extended to pizzelles and various traditional Italian Christmas cookies.

Yet, amidst the grandeur of every Christmas, what I now cherish most are the memories of the people who made it magical – my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Though some cousins remain, many have departed, leaving a void that no festive cheer can fill. Reflecting on those cherished moments, I remember the laughter, warmth, and love shared with the family I hold closest to my heart. Jack Ciaccia

Niagara Falls, NY had a very large Sicilian population.  For our family, St. Lucy’s Day, December 13, signaled the start of the Christmas Holiday.  My grandmother’s house was the gathering place for this event.  Aunts, Uncles and cousins would stop by with their families to share in the festivities.   I knew this was the start of Christmas because everyone was dressed up and the house was completely decorated!

Special bulbs which had been wrapped carefully in tissue paper adorned the real tree that wasplaced in the corner.  A creche from “the old country” was placed under the tree. The figures were tiny and very detailed. I loved to lie on the floor and feel the animals. They were fuzzy and felt like real fur.

On the table was a variety of foods I only saw once a year.  Chestnuts were cut with a plus sign and roasted, a plate of marinated lupini beans were placed on the table.  We also had “sarde”, which if I remember correctly, was sardines with pine nuts and raisins. We always had homemade caponata and a huge traditional Sicilian antipasto.  There was a small pitcher of olive oil and the pepper grinder.  I’m sure there were other “old country” favorites but the one I always looked forward to was Torrone candy!

The main dish for the evening was “Cuccia”.  My grandmother would spend the evening before,spreading the wheat on a table and picking out little black stones.  When she was done, she would soak the wheat overnight. The pot would go on the stove early in the morning and the wheat would cook all day.  A can of ceci beans would be added near the end of the cooking time.  

Everyone arrived at different times so the table was constantly being replenished.  When the Cuccia was ready, my grandmother would scoop it into a bowl and we would pour a thin ring of olive oil on it and then grind pepper on top.  Our family made Cuccia like a soup.  Other regions made it differently – some made it like a cereal with milk and sugar, and some like a chocolate dessert.

My Christmas holiday started on December 13 and ended on “Little Christmas”, January 6.  Family would visit each other’s houses the entire time.  It was a great time with la famiglia! Charleen Scime

Dad decorated a Christmas tree the way he did everything else, with pride. No, it was not the best or the most adorned, and it would not win any prizes, it was not what you would call a classic. But it was one of a kind… his.

          He did it alone, from the purchase to the last strand of tinsel. He tied it to the roof, drove it home, screwed it into the stand, straightened it, and planted it by the largest window. Dad strung the lights in a spiral, hung the ornaments, the balls… silver, blue, red, and green; draped the tinsel, skirted the stand, stuck the star on the top, and stood back. Perfect. “When I was a kid, we put real candles on our tree. We sat and watched them so the house wouldn’t burn down.”

         The first memory I have is seeing the blur of lights, a glow seemed to fill the corners of my eyes with mist, and I was transported to a natural place. His tree was as green as a summer day and smelled as fresh as evergreens on the side of a mountain. Against the window, it radiated streams of low winter light that bounced off the balls, the tinsel and the ornaments, then filtered through the branches with laser-like, speckled beams to the rug. The light’s glow and the tree’s aroma diffused throughout our house. It meant Christmas.

         Each ornament was hung in the same place every year. Angels came alive, Santas brought gifts, balls reflected light and bells rang with joy. In the middle of the tree was a picture of me taken in front of the tree on my first birthday. And there was Dad’s favorite, a cloth Santa. “I bought that Santa when you were born. It’s as old as you.”

          Santa was two-thirds the way up the tree. Made of cloth, stitched and glued, he was no more than four inches high, wore a tall red hat with a white cotton rim, a long red jacket that hung to his knees, light blue pants, a brown sack over his left shoulder and black boots. His droopy, pink face and blue eyes sang with joy.

          Bursting with excitement on Christmas morning, the first thing I saw was the tree, and then the bounty; over the years appeared trains, a Red Flyer wagon, a football, shoulder pads, sneakers, a baseball glove, an erector set, a radio, a fire truck, ice skates, a hockey stick, and the bike, the Rocket Royal. The Santa watched from above.

          Year after year Dad hung his Santa. The years went by, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty. Santa never failed. He took his place two-thirds the way up.

          I married and had children. Each Christmas Day, Dad anticipated our arrival, and then he strolled to his tree. “That Santa is as old as your father.”

         Over the years Santa aged too; his beard went from white to tan, he lost his left hand, his pants drooped, pine needles stuck to his boots, his sack shriveled, the piping on the front of his jacket needed stitching, the cotton withered.

        My Dad died in 1996. We bought a small tree for Mom and decorated it, never failing to place the Santa. Mom died six years later. Disposing of their collection was difficult. As we discarded the old decorations, I panicked. Where was Santa? At the last moment, I found him, surrounded by hunks of tinsel, attached to Mom’s last tree, in a junk heap in the corner of the yard. I captured him. Was he smiling? That year he took his place on my tree. “See that Santa. Pop bought it when I was born.”

       One year, I lost the Santa. I panicked, again, searched everywhere and still I could not find him. He did not grace the tree that year. “I know he’s here in this house.” Christmas passed. Santa missed it for the first time.

         The following year, while unpacking ornaments, I found him, lying in the bottom of the box, packaged in a Ziplock bag, smiling up at me. I took a deep breath as memories surfaced, melting into tears in the corners of my eyes. “I found him, I found him.”

      Santa took his place in the tree, two-thirds of the way up from the bottom. I anticipate our grandchildren’s arrival each Christmas and stroll to the tree. “See that Santa. He’s as old as I am. Pop bought him when I was born.”

      Dad’s tree will ever remain one of a kind…ours

I am from Bari and came to US in 1955 when I was 15 years old. My mom in usual southern tradition would make roasted eel, and every year for the next 10 years she would always burn it. By then I was married with children and decided to start cooking the Christmas eve dinner myself since I am the oldest. Naturally, even though I followed traditions, I also, had my own ways of cooking (my father was a chef and picked up some traits from him). So, I cooked the eel my way, and, it was an instant success. Since my mother was a very jealous person, it didn't sit too well with her, but in time she got over it.

The second part is the fried cod. As tradition was to buy salted cod, soak it for days then fry it, and cook it different ways. The soaking process was to be made in the garage as it wasn't a desired aroma when it was soaking. During these last 10 years cod has become a regular fish sold in fish markets and I decided to experiment. Lo and behold, I didn't have to soak the cod anymore and buy it fresh instead, and just as good. If my mother were alive, "not salted?!" Yes, times have changed mamma.

As the years pass, I still do the usual traditional dishes, but I also Introduce new fish dishes, mostly to please my grandchildren and great-grandchildren’s palates as they are very sensitive to the strong taste of fish, not at all like their Nonnas’ that loooves fish!!

One of my second daughters’ favorite is stuffed squid and it’s a staple every Christmas eve.

                2020 was the “Annus Horribilis” for all of us….Covid!!

Our granddaughter Amanda lived with us and we decided to do something  different. Yes, we did have spaghetti with fish sauce and fried cod, but also king size crab legs, delicious!

Christmas Trees - Bob Puglisi

I have always loved having a real Christmas tree for the holidays. I love the sweet pine scent. Maybe you’re supposed to have an artificial tree when you get older. I know that’s what my parents did when I was grown and out of the house. I wouldn't say I liked those artificial ones.

I recall shopping for trees with my father when I was a kid. In Corona, New York, where we lived, my father always went to Potash, the produce market in town. It was always cold. The tree lot was across the street from their market. There was always a big fire going in a large industrial-type barrel. I usually ran over to it to keep warm while Dad perused the many trees. 

He liked to shake them. I don’t know why. He would say, “You want one that is full.” He meant with many branches. When we found one Dad liked, he would usually negotiate a better, lower price. I guess that’s why I still try to do the same. We never forgot the one with two points at the top, so we put a pointed decoration on each. 

Christmas was a little depressing when Anita and I lived in Los Angeles because it could be seventy degrees at Christmas time. Thinking of our relatives back east suffering from the cold was comforting. The weather was so warm that we usually played tennis on Christmas morning. 

Another thing about Christmas in L.A. that amused us was the white-flocked Christmas trees that lined Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. When Christmas rolled around, those trees looked brownish from the heavy car exhaust on the boulevard.

Someone told us that if we wanted nice fresh trees at reasonable prices, we had to go downtown to the railyard. We would go to lunch in Chinatown for Dim Sum and then head over to the railyard. Guys would stand inside a boxcar filled with trees. They would auction them off in the railroad car's doorway until a buyer agreed on a price. We got some nice trees there despite the warm weather. For some reason, they stopped doing that.

Then, we went to Christmas tree farms in the San Fernando Valley. They gave you a bow saw and sent you into the many rows of trees. The problem we always ran into was the size of the tree. We couldn’t judge their height in that big open space. We purchased some pretty large trees over the years.

We had a very high ceiling in our living room in Laurel Canyon. But one year, we outdid ourselves. The tree we purchased was too large for our space. One evening, I came home from work, and our fully decorated tree fell over. Being the only one home, I struggled to stand it upright. Several minutes later, I was startled when the tree crashed again. After that, we had to tie it with a heavy fishing tackle attached at two different places on our walls.

So, with those beautiful memories, we won't feel too bad if we don’t get a real tree this year. Maybe you’re supposed to buy an artificial one at this age. 

Bob Puglisi is an author and blogger; you can read about his books and read his blogs at his website: bobpuglisi.com.

I am Stephanie Martino, an Italian-American raised in Queens, and my husband is Ezio DiBelardino, from Marino, a town in the Castelli Romani.  He was born in a tiny town, San Polo dei Cavalieri, just outside of Tivoli.  Ezio’s family had been evacuated by the Catholic Church a few months before his birth, because their town, Marino, had been heavily bombed by the Americans in their search for “Anzio Annie” starting in late January, 1944, following the Allied Forces landing at Anzio and Nettuno.

(A story in itself: http://samilitaryhistory.org/vol133lw.html)

We have always had continued and close contact with all of my husband’s family, visiting as frequently as our finances and time allowed in the first 31 years of our marriage.  In 1999, we bought a condo in Nettuno, province of Rome,  and when we began staying there for months at a time, I have a better understanding of why so many Jewish people chose to live or retire in Israel.  I knew in my soul that I belonged.

Overall, Christmas in Italy has more of a religious aspect, even though there is also a commercial one.   Usually, as Catholics in Italy celebrate the feast day of Saint Nicholas (December 6th) and the feast of the Immaculate Conception ( December 8th) , all main thoroughfares in big cities and small towns, are decorated with lights that are strung from one side of the street to the other.  In Piazza Navona, Rome, there is a Christmas market which opens in mid- December and is busy until the day after the Epiphany, Jan.6.  Each town usually has  a small Christmas market

This is the time that churches set up their manger scenes, some of which use statues that are hundreds of years old, and in homes, people set up their own manger scenes. They take great pride in building unique scenes.  Christmas trees were really never a part of the celebration of Christmas until probably the last 40-50 years.

Families travel near and far to visit churches to see their manger scenes and enjoy the lights. During this time, there are “shepherds” that walk through the streets, playing the Italian version of a bagpipe.  I have seen them in Rome, and last year, 

l saw them even in our small sea-side town, Nettuno, 30 miles SW of Rome.

“Wanted in Rome.com” is the source of an explanation of shepherds and bagpipes:

The spectacle of bagpipe-playing shepherds still exists in Naples and Rome.

Dressed in traditional sheepskin and woollen cloaks with peaked hats, the zampognari pipers come into the city from their mountain homes, performing traditional music and hymns including the much-loved Italian carol Tu scendi dalle stelle.

The zampognari are important figures in the folklore of Italian regions including Abruzzo, Basilicata, Calabria, Campania, Lazio, Molise, Puglia and Sicily.

These otherworldly characters perform traditional Christmas melodies on the zampogna, an ancient wind instrument made of animal hide, whose music is hypnotic and very loud.

The arrival of the zampogna is considered auspicious and they feature strongly in the Christmas crib tradition of Naples, thanks to a popular legend about shepherds playing music on their pipes upon seeing the baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

As for the musical instrument itself, the zampogna should not be confused with the northern European bagpipes, both due to differences of geographic origin and the fact that the zampogna usually has at least two melodic reed pipes.

The music played on the zampogna is often accompanied by a ciaramella or piffaro, a wind instrument similar to the oboe.

So keep an ear out for the zampognari this Christmas - you will hear them before you see them!  But, if you are not spending Christmas in Italy, here is a video of the zampogna being played.

https://youtu.be/RCEyN1pCm3E

Christmas Struffoli - Marina

As a kid, I loved my grandmothers struffoli, if we could not be there for Christmas, she would always send us a shirt box of struffoli.........she never gave her recipe, but the taste and flavor was embedded.  As I grew up, and longing childhood memories, I thought I would try making it, I found a recipe on line, and over the years tweeked it, till the flavors I remembered were exact... after many years, I achieved success.  My daughter and I make this every December, since she was a young teen.  We share with friends and neighbors, who remind me in August, to keep them on the struffoli list....    

INGREDIENTS: struffoli best recipie

• 2 cups  flour

• 1/4 teaspoon salt

• 3 eggs

• 1 teaspoon vanilla

• 1 tbsp of water or milk  if needed to moisten

• squirt of lemon juice fresh........optional

• 1 cup honey

• 2 tablespoon sugar

•  tiny multicolored sprinkles

DIRECTIONS: Set out deep fat fryer; heat to 365 degrees. Place flour and salt into a large bowl. Make a well in the center of flour. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing slightly after each addition. Add vanilla extract. Mix well to make a soft dough. Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead several minutes until soft and elastic. Divide dough into halves. Lightly roll each half 1/4 inch thick to form a rectangle. Cut dough with a pastry cutter into strips 1/4 inch wide. Use palm of hand to roll strips to pencil thickness. Cut into pieces about 1/4 to 1/2 inch long. Fry only as many pieces of dough as will float uncrowded, one layer deep in the fat. Fry 3 to 5 minutes or until lightly browned, turning occasionally during frying time. Drain before removing to absorbent paper. Meanwhile, cook honey and sugar in a skillet over low heat for about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and add deep-fried pieces. Stir constantly until all pieces are coated with honey-sugar mixture. Remove Strufoli with a slotted spoon and set in refrigerator to chill slightly. Remove to a large serving platter and arrange in a cone shape mound. sprinkle with the candies. Chill in refrigerator. Serve by breaking off individual pieces.

When I was a kid my Nonna made these all the time... not just for holidays.

But they do make a great cookie to give a way. When all the cookies with sprinkles and icing are gone these are the ones you look for to have a little treat without so much sugar to dunk in your hot cocoa or cappuccino! Give me these over a "sugar" cookie anyday!

This is a nice big recipe! (I mean seriously.. if you gonna make cookies... MAKE COOKIES!)

and... it's absolutely perfect for gifting!

Nonna's "S" Cookies

1/2 lb butter (226 g)

3 eggs

1 1/2 cups sugar

4-5 cups flour

5 teaspoons baking powder

2 tablespoons vanilla

about 1 cup warm milk

(Add one tsp salt if you use unsalted butter. Add 1/2 cup or smidge more flour if it's too sticky with the whole cup of milk.)

Cream butter and sugar

add eggs and beat well

add vanilla

mix flour and baking powder (and salt if you need) together and add alternately with milk to the mixture.

Work dough with hands until thoroughly blended.

Roll dough and shape into "S" or "log" or "figure 8"

Bake at 350F or 180C

You can just make these plain or when almost done brush with beaten egg (or egg white) mixed with a bit of milk and splash of vanilla.

You can add sprinkles if you like to make a little more festive for the holidays!

Enjoy these... all year...

GREAT for dunking!

Have you all noticed yet that I LOVE to dunk stuff in my cappuccino!!!???

Buon Natale - Peggy Fucillo

Buon Natale a Tutti!

Christmas in the North End was unlike anywhere else, except maybe in the Paise. It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas didn’t apply to my family. Because in my flat, the beginning of December was when the festivities started and it looked just like Christmas.

My mother jumped right into Christmas full force, putting up glittering decorations all over our four room apartment. Gleaming candles were placed in each window, with shiny aluminum wreaths hanging from the window latches above each candle. China figurines of angels, donkeys, carolers and miniature Christmas trees were placed on any available table top or shelf. Brightly colored garlands of red and green adorned the window frames and the Christmas Music in Italian and English was playing continually from the Victrola. Remember “78” Records?  Santa was indeed coming to town, Rudolph had a red nose and Silver Bells were letting us know it was Christmas time in the city. But “WE” already knew that. 

My childhood was not always a happy one.  But Christmas time almost made up for that. The anticipation of Christmas Eve was so huge, I thought it would never arrive. Mama would have the Three Wisemen placed around the house and each day  I would move them closer to the empty manger in the living room. I bet the Kings didn’t think they’d ever get to see the New Born King. The North End was so alive with everyone out on the crowded cobblestone streets buying all the necessities to have the traditional Christmas Eve, The Feast of the Seven Fishes. Like all Southern Italians and Sicilians this was the biggest day of the year! And if you were old enough you even got to go to Midnight Mass. It was also the night we decorated the Christmas Tree. And the night the animals talked!

As a family, we celebrated the Italian traditions of my mother and grandparents when they came from Italy. Italians did not eat meat on Christmas Eve. Gradually the Christmas Eve meal became the Feast of the Seven Fishes. The number seven has a mystical significance that has been historically used in Catholicism, the Seven Sacraments the Seven Deadly Sins, etc. So that may be the reason for the use of the number of seven.  However, in our home seven was definitely an arbitrary number. We had

more than seven! We were fortunate to have the Atlantic Ocean in our backyard and fishermen from Sciacca, Sicily living all around us. My mother with the help of Grandma Nonna would get up very early and be cooking all day. Dough would be set to rise for the deep frying of Zeppoli filled with anchovies.  We would always have these first and they were my favorite. But I was not allowed to help as it made Mama nervous. Maybe that was because one time I felt very bad for the lobsters and my cousin and I brought them down to the water and set them free. The timing of the dishes was very important. Some food was raw, some cooked quickly and some in a savory sauce. When preparing the fish, some had to remain in water, eel being one. Eels are big and to me very scary, big snakes. They were kept in the bathtub until they were ready to be cooked. I would not go into the bathroom. I locked the bathroom door from the outside, took the key and then cried a lot. Eel was never included at our Feast of the Seven Fishes again. Grandma Nonna was upset because she loved eel and Mama, well, she got more nervous. 

Our meal would start around 4:30. Dish by Dish, the Feast was displayed on the beautiful Christmas table cloth, protected by plastic. Fried Calamari, broiled Scallops, Baccala (ugh the smell ) marinated Octopus, stuffed Quahogs, baked stuffed Shrimp, fried Flounder, bake stuffed Lobster, Linguini with Clam sauce and anything else my mother would deem suitable to make the meal, the meal of all meals. After eating all this food, dessert was served!  Rum Cake from Modern Pastry, Spumoni from my cousin’s husband’s company, Russo’s Spumoni and Struffoli and cookies from Auntie Anna, made their entrance. The Feast continued for a long time, with family also dropping by for dessert and coffee. 

Next came the trimming of the tree.  By this time my Grandma Nonna and my father had fallen asleep. Daddy had bought the tree the day before and had deposited it in the hallway. Mama and I dragged it in and struggled to get it in the stand, which NEVER happened! Daddy had to wake up and set the tree in the stand for us. The Christmas lights were draped around the tree along with the glistening garland. The beautiful blown glass ornaments were unwrapped, and gently placed on the somewhat fragile pine branches. If an ornament broke, Mama cried a bit as each one was very special to her, some were even from Italy. I got the job of parceling out the shimmery tinsel. That was fun, except I would get tired and start to just fling the tinsel anywhere near the tree. Daddy, awake again, would lift me up to place the Angel on the top of the tree.

One more task was left that had special significance for all of us. Even Grandma Nonna had to be awake for this. The Nativity scene had to be set up! Our Nativity Set had traveled on the boat from Italy in 1901, guarded by my Grandma Nonna.  Each piece was carefully unveiled from its tissue paper. Two shepherds, sheep, goat, donkey, angels and Mary and Joseph were placed on a special table covered with an angel table cloth crocheted by Grandma Nonna.  Baby Jesus would come at Midnight! We sang Silent Night in Italian  and English. Finally, we all went to sleep, dreaming of the New Born King we would meet in the morning. I would also hear the animals chattering to each other in the manger. 

Christmas morning I would awake to find Baby Jesus next to Mary and Joseph. On our way to Church, my father would hand out gifts of handkerchiefs, socks, hats, scarves, gloves and money envelopes of $2 bills to anyone on the street who appeared alone and desperate to keep warm. I learned very early in life to always help those in need, and in the North End of the 1950’s there were always those in need. After Mass we opened our presents. My present was a Red Rocking Horse. I was a huge fan of Annie Oakley! After presents we had our Christmas dinner of antipasto, lasagna, gravy with meatballs, sausage and braciola. Listening to Big Crosby, we ate more  Rum Cake, Spumoni, cookies and  Struffoli. Grandma Nonna and Daddy would fall asleep. I rocked on my horse and Mama singing to “Perry Como Sings Merry Christmas”, cleaned up a very messy Kitchen.

Christmas lasts a long time for Italians, beginning December 8th and ending on January 6th, the feast of the Epiphany, when the Three Wise Men bring their gifts to Baby Jesus!  Their statues, also brought from Italy by my family, finally end their journey at the Manger together with their camels. This is also the day that La Befana, a mysterious old woman, visits the children and leaves each a present. We celebrated it differently. I was told one of the Kings left me a gift. Mama would also bake a special cake. If you received the piece of cake with a coin in it, you would earn a special blessing from the child Jesus. These traditions are celebrated in a variety of ways in Italy and in many other countries.  Christmas was coming to a close!  The next day was bittersweet as all the decorations were taken down and stored with care, hibernating for the next Christmas celebration.

As Christmas approaches this year, I am stricken with sadness at all that is happening in our world. I Pray for peace and the end of the horror of war and that injustice and hatred is vanquished and love will reign the world. Imagine.

Peggy Fuciilo is the author of

“My North End Family Stories, la gioia e il dolore. 

Availble at I am Books, Saint Francis Gift Shop at Saint Leonard’s and also directly though Peggy > [email protected] … All Proceeds to Charity.

and the soon to be published…

Am I Talking To Somebody?

From My Heart To Yours

Father Claude Scrima O.F.M.

His Story and the Love He Inspires.

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