Something Old, Something New
My brother and father would pull out my mother’s childhood train set and spend the afternoon trying to get it to chug around the Christmas tree. Some years, their hours on the floor would result in cheers once the fake smoke puffed out of the engine and lights shone as the train came around the bend. There were some failed attempts, which resulted in more time together in the workshop before my Dad packed away the train for the following Christmas. This year, I mailed my nephew, and father’s namesake, Jack Colbert IV, a train set for under his tree. Facetiming my brother while they set it up instantly made us both feel connected to our father who hasn’t been with us for twenty Christmases.
Growing up, my Gramma Phyllis would spend the night in our home on Christmas Eve. I eagerly helped her unpack presents and her pie basket as she explained the French-Canadian tradition of serving meat pie at Christmas. I didn't hear much of what she was saying over the delicious scent of spices that crawled out of the basket. The pie contained lamb, veggies, and a flaky crust; a Christmas present in itself. Each year she would bring this pie and we would welcome the gift of not having to cook dinner. This year I have found a recipe on Pinterest, I will buy a frozen crust, and I will attempt to make my family a traditional French-Canadian Tourtiere, in memory of Gramma Phyllis. Even if the meat pie isn’t a big hit with my family, I will inevitably text my mother and siblings, and we will feel connected to our grandmother.
Each year, my father wanted to throw a Christmas Eve Party, but it was very important that my mom and grandmother attend the midnight church service. Persistent in his mission to celebrate, he would convince me to invite my friends over, and we’d all play pool and drink eggnog. Close friends at the time, my now-husband Todd would lead the charge and gather the boys from Belmont. The night would end with our childhood friend Jason, aka “Crazy Legs Conti,” hiding a letter to Santa under my parent’s tree. The year he lived in L.A. his letter arrived via Fed Ex so as to not break the tradition. Gramma Phyllis and my mom would return from church teary-eyes and would join us for one cold beer in a glass, which they split. A second beer was set aside with a plate of cookies for Santa.
This year, Crazy Legs Conti will visit Sudbury and we will have our sons teach us new games since we do not have a pool table. Thanks to modern technology, my brother will be able to send us videos of my nephew enjoying his train. Our family will connect in Boston for church and dinner the following day, something we have never done before. Todd and I might split a beer, toasting to new twists on old traditions.
