The Ghost of Christmas Past

Well, here we are. Almost done with this whole house clearing process. We still have another month and I will need every moment. We are planning a "moving party", of sorts, on 2/5. Call me if you can help out and I promise some of Stephen's wonderful pumpkin soup! There is still furniture that needs a good home

I've been working alot in the basement lately. You know how you can be sailing along on something, congratulating yourself on how industrious you are and then BAM! I was walking down the stairs to the basement. The light over the long buffet was on and it made me stop in my tracks. I was overwhelmed with memories of Christmas' past.

You see, my parents were not big party people. My dad was an entertainer working 6 nights a week. My mother never learned to drive. Sundays were quiet, family days. Our house was not an open, drop in kind of place - and not for any bad reason. It was a little sanctuary for us of music, culture and good food. Friends were invited over and dinner was cooked to feed those expected for dinner. My mother was quite the hostess but did not like surprises. Which leads me to the annual Christmas Party.

I use capital letters because that was always how I thought of the yearly event. My mother would throw a lovely party for a select few - partially because we had a small house but also because my mother cooked for this party. I don't mean large quantities of food but a vast selection of amazing things to delight her guests.

For weeks before, she cleaned the house. She even painted all the baseboards and door frames so that everything looked crisp. She decorated. My parents put up their (real) tree and my mother lovingly decorated it. There was always a second, smaller tree (fake) in the basement that my mother would decorate with handmade ornaments that changed every year. One year was silver ornaments made from foil and dipped in glitter. One year she used tiny purple lights and small crystal hearts. One year, she gathered pine cones all summer long just to use on the tree. Or walnut shells dipped in silver paint. Real "Martha" stuff before there was a Martha!

Here's how the night would go. Guests would start arriving around 7 and my dad would open the door and usher them in. Back when I was a kid (this was the 60s) ladies dressed up and men wore suits. I would take their coats back to my parent's room and lay them on the bed, admiring the furs and the smell of the various perfumes. Mom would be finishing up in the kitchen. My dad would get down to business and find out what they were drinking. Over the years, alot of my dad's fans from the piano bar became our friends. He was a dashing guy and my mother was smart enough to know that the best way to keep women mindful of his marital status was to befriend them...and their husbands. My godmother was, originally, a groupie!

So my dad would pour a stiff drink and my mother would be setting out the hors d'oeuvres. We are not talking cheese and crackers here. She would make 4 or 5 different things. Parmesan twists or sauteed shrimp were always my favorites. I also loved Rumaki or scallops or ...well, you get the idea. The Cocktail Hour was just that. About an hour to sit and talk and drink - this is where my dad would pour me a Manhattan. Now before you think ill of him I must say this; it was coke with maraschino cherries and a wee bit of the juice. And everyone smoked - or so it seemed to me. I use to love how our house smelled when we hosted the Christmas Party - so exotic. (May remind you of how chic it used to be? Smoking that is!)

Anyway, whilst the guests listened to music, drank and ate and talked the scene was being set up downstairs in the basement. We lived in a three bedroom ranch. The basement was partially finished - the main room and then there were two other utility rooms that remained in their more raw state. As you descended the stairs - complete with a "Rue Bourbon" street sign above your head (this would have been the 70's as my brother was then a member of the New Orleans Symphony and my parents were gaga over the city) you would first see a long buffet set out that was built in to run the width of the room. Like the top of a T, this long expanse would be covered in hot plates and dishes of all kinds of amazing things. There were usually two main dishes and three or four "sides" along with a jello mold or aspic, green salad of some exotic kind and bread or rolls. Various sauces or hot mustard would be there as well as more veggie creations. The champagne would be flowing about now and I would be in "runner mode" up and down, ferrying it all to its place. There was a spotlight, of sorts, that shown down on all the food and, as you turned and looked to the right, you would see two or three tables set up complete with linens and silverware. The room was decorated to be most merry and, of course, there would be music. Always music. The party was never for more than 20 and that varied till we were down to about 12 that last year.

The folks would go through the line and make their way to a seat. Amid laughter and sighs of epicurean satisfaction the evening would flow. Dessert would later be set out and that could be a traditional English Trifle or an amazing pudding or chocolate truffles or a custard or....all of the above!

Then all guests would be ushered back up the stairs to "freshen up" and get a new cocktail. My mother's crew would dismantle all the tables and chairs and turn the room around for Part 2 of the evening. Upstairs, my mother would hand out gift bags to all the guests filled with an assortment of fun things like pretty note pads, cool kitchen gadgets, candles, homemade chutney or jam and always a lovely note. My folks would open gifts brought to them as well but they never seemed quite as lovely as those little bags my mother put together for everyone.

Then, when all was ready, the guests would come back downstairs to make music. Yup, my dad would work a 7th night that week because he would sit down at the piano and play. Did I mention that the Party was always on a Sunday evening? Coffee and liquors would be served as well as assortments of homemade Christmas cookies - again none of the plain sugar cookie deal here! My father would play until someone stepped up and started to sing. The favorites were always performed. Ray, a wonderful tenor, would sing "My Wild Irish Rose", Helen would sing a lovely version of "Climb Every Mountain" or "Ave Maria". My mother would sing "Chase Me Charley". My folks would sing a duet or two like "Till There Was You" and I would join them in "Lida Rose" or something. I would sing various numbers and my friends would get roped in as well. One year, I brought my lovely but tone deaf boyfriend to the party. He had a video camera with him. I remembered he leaned over and said..."This is amazing. People don't do this at regular parties!"

The party ended in the wee hours when I was a child but, as the years wore on and the attendees got older, things usually wrapped up by midnight. This went on for FORTY YEARS! My father could never understand why my mother would just kill herself putting this on every year but it was a labor of love for her.

The schedule never varied much over the years. I remember how the ladies would gather in the kitchen to help wash up - I'm not sure Mum was ever entirely comfortable with that but she laughed along with them and thanked them for their help. I don't know how long she cooked for those evenings. I'm sure it was several days in the making, aside from the baking. I can't imagine what she spent on the soiree. All that food and a well stocked bar too.

I stood there, on those stairs today, and I heard the sounds of music, laughter and the clinking of silverware. It all came flooding back and I remembered my parents as they were. Youthful well into their 70s true but these were my parents in their 40s. Twirling and happy to entertain their friends. As I wiped the tears from my eyes the scenes faded and I saw the cobwebs and the boxes and general disarray of the buffet. Did I mentioned that one complete wall of the basement - over 23 feet - were bookcases filled with my father's record collection. And another three shelves of records on the opposite wall? It served as a reminder to all who dined there of the importance of music and culture in the life of our family. The records are gone now. All that remain are the 78s that no dealer would take. Amazing collections of operas, symphonies, chamber music, big band, jazz and such.

It was a rich environment to grow up in and I took it for granted. Didn't everyone live like this? I know the truth now and it makes it all the more amazing.

Thanks, June and Leonard, for the magic and the love and the Christmas Parties!