THE BEST KIND OF CHRISTMAS

By

Gerry Niskern

I had two Christmas celebrations as a child. My sister and I woke up on December 25^th to the smell of pine. Santa had brought presents and a beautiful sparkling tree too. What more could a kid ask for.

But on January 6^th, at my grandma Gunto’s house, we had our favorite Christmas. We looked forward to Grandma’s Orthodox Catholic celebration because we were with our many cousins. Mom came from a family of l3, so there were a lot of cousins. There were no presents exchanged, just the joy of the whole family being together.

My grandma’s living room was cleared of furniture and long tables and chairs were set up. The tables were groaning with food. After a prayer by one of the grownups in my Grandmothers native language, my little Austrian grandma would always say, “Now Geddy, you say in English”. She could never pronounce Gerry. I don’t know why she always chose me, out of all the kids, to say the blessing. I was painfully shy so I guess she thought it would be good practice for me!

We had Hulupkis. They were boiled cabbage leaves filled with browned ground beef and spices and rice. The cabbage was then folded like an envelope, rolled up and placed in a large kettle and covered with the savory brown gravy made from the browned beef. They were delicious.

There was Perogies too; my favorite. After making the dough, it was rolled out and cut into 3 inch squares. Then a mixture of mashed potatoes and chunks of yellow cheese was spooned out onto a square and folded over into a triangle and the edges pinched with a fork. The pockets were then dropped into boiling water for a few minutes to cook like a noodle. Then they were lifted out and plopped into a large skillet sizzling with chopped onion browning in butter.

There was always a bowl of stewed apricots, and fruit pies from the summer’s canning; cherry, peach and berry. The only cookies were plain round sugar cookies with a spoonful of jam in the middle and another round of cookie on top, with a hole in the middle for the jam to bubble thru.

The most important dish of the evening was a platter of round cooked noodle balls covered with honey and poppy seed.  Everyone had to eat one in order to have good health in the coming year. I dreaded that Austrian tradition, but I was always required to choke one down!

The evening was concluded with polka dancing with the music provided by my Uncle Paul from Italy. His sparkling blue accordion shimmered as everyone, young and old. danced. My grandma’s old frame house vibrated with fun. Then, of course, my Uncle Walter, from Russia, gave a command performance dancing the Mazurka. He crouched low, with arms across his chest and his boots kicking high into the air. Everyone tried to imitate him, but no one else was strong enough.

Every year, I ended up on someone’s lap in the living room in front of the fireplace watching the coal fire hiss and spew out plumes of yellow, red and purple flames. Mesmerized by the symphony of color I fell asleep; and always the next thing I knew. I woke up the next morning in my own bed!