Sunday, November 29, 2009

My Favorite Things

Once the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner are but an epicurean memory, my focus shifts to the biggest holiday of the year--at least for me--Christmas. The preparations typically begin the day after the gobble-fest.

Boxes stuffed with treasured decorations are lugged down from the attic, and for the most part of a week, I carefully place and arrange the holiday memories from years gone by.  Of course, Christmas carols play in the background.  Some silly; some sentimental.  "Dominick the Donkey" gets me every year.  My father's name was of course, this silly song about an Italian Christmas donkey brings tears to my eyes.  The first year I purchased Christmas Organ Spectacular, by Rob Richards, my sister and I marched around the kitchen, to "The March of the Wooden Soldiers."  (It's a Radio City memory....the sound of that pipe organ makes my eyes tear).  I know, I know...I'm so goofy!  Here's a link to the Laurel and Hardy movie: March of the Wooden Soldiers

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without massive amounts of baking, and I'll post a few of my favorite recipes as I progress through the next few weeks, but for now, this is about the decorations. 

I received this marching Santa from my grandfather, John (Giovanni) when I was around 8 years old.  The paper covering the drum managed to get a little girl's finger poked through one year, so in order to redeem myself, I replaced it with a cupcake liner.  Pretty creative, I'd say. 

"Father Christmas"  Ok.  Donna and I think he resembles our father. 

Babbo Natale, Papa Natale, Father Christmas. 

These ceramic "Noel" letters are actually candle holders.  They stand about 3" high and hold standard birthday cake candles.  Mom used to light them years ago, but now they've become window-ledge decorations.  They rarely spell, "N-O-E-L," since my sons have taken to rearrange them throughout the season to spell, "L-E-O-N,"  "E-L-O-N," and "L-O-N-E." 

Ok, this is just a shameless display of affection for my sons.

What's a baker without baker snowmen in a wreath?

My mother-in-law stitched this treasure for me, oh, I guess around 20 years ago.  Those are her initials in the lower right-hand corner: FAS.  Florence Andre' Schmidt.
The two antique photos:  John's paternal grandmother, Olga, far right.  My father, about 4-years-old, far left.

Coming soon:  My Marx Trains

No comments:

Post a Comment