palides2021
Well-known Member
- Location
- MidAtlantic, USA
I have recently been reflecting on the Christmases I had when I was single and still living at home with my family. These times were in the seventies where there was no wifi or Internet. We enjoyed the simple pleasures of life without electronics. It would often be a cold winter during Christmas in northern Ohio, and we’d often have snow. So Bing Crosby’s song “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” was a reality.
Christmas was not only the day of Christ’s birth, but it was also my father’s name day because his name was Christos. My mom would always invite people for dinner to celebrate his name day. She would bake Greek pastries and cookies days before Christmas. There were crispy koulourakia twisted in different shapes, and nut-filled finikia, and trays of baklava, and powdered kourabiedes. She made more than we could ever eat just so she could fill a plate with cookies to give to each dinner guest as they were leaving.
The baking wasn’t the only thing I remember about Christmas. Then there were the Christmas cards to write and mail and the shopping for gifts.
On Christmas Eve, we’d wash and dress in our fine Sunday clothes and go to church and attend the services so that on Christmas day, we’d be home. Jesus’s birth is such a special occasion in our lives.On Christmas morning, we’d jump out of our beds and rush down to the Christmas tree. My mom liked to stuff the stockings with small candies and little toys and would hide them, and on Christmas day we would see them hanging over the mantle. But we were clever, though, and would discover where she hid them, and sometimes the stockings were not always full on Christmas day, and she would be dismayed and would scold us. We’d hang our heads in shame, and the following year, she’d become wise to us and hide them elsewhere. It was a mouse and cat game until we got older, and then she stopped stuffing the stockings, and we started filling them ourselves just to keep the tradition.
When my youngest sister was around four or five (I was eleven years older), she still believed in Santa Clause, and we would do special things for her. It was fun just watching her reaction. Sometimes, Santa Clause would “forget” his bag of gifts under the tree, and we’d say, “Oh, look, Santa Clause forgot his bag. Let’s see what’s inside.” And we’d have all the gifts inside there.
Another time, my dad dressed up as Santa Claus and came unexpectedly wearing a red suit and red hat. He didn’t even warn us about it, so we (the older sisters) were shocked to see this man who looked like Santa Claus appear in our house saying Merry Christmas in Greek! He had this luxurious white mustache, and he had put a pillow under his red suit to make him look fat, and when he wore the red hat, he honestly looked like Santa Clause. My little sister’s mouth popped wide open as she stared at him. I’m pretty sure we all looked like that. My mom tried to hold back her laughter as she gestured to us older girls to let us know it was our father.
The tricky part was how to accomplish this Santa Claus act without giving it away to our little sister. So he came and did his thing and ho-ho-hoed, clutching his big belly while laughing and wiping his mustache with enthusiasm, while we giggled uncontrollably. Then he asked her in Greek if she was a good girl or a naughty girl. Of course, she said she was a good girl, then he gave her and us all our gifts and said he had to leave for the other children. She waved goodbye, staring as if she had seen a ghost. When he returned a half-hour later from the basement, he was his old self. By then, my little sister was too busy playing with her new toys to pick up on what had happened. My other sisters and I were talking about it for days.
Another time, we would fill a plate with fresh cookies on Christmas Eve and tell my sister we were leaving them there for Santa Claus to eat because he would be too busy to stop by on Christmas morning. We made sure several of them were eaten by morning. “Oh look, Santa Claus ate the cookies because he was hungry. Oh, look, he left a note for us. It says, Thank you for the cookies! You’ve been very good!”
So after we opened our gifts, we’d either try on our new clothes or play with the games. One year, we all played our musical instruments (piano, flute, violin, clarinet), and it was fun playing Christmas songs together. In the early afternoon, we’d start getting ready for dinner, slicing and dicing vegetables and making spanakopitas, pastitsio, and sweet potatoes, and roasting the meat. It was just a very busy day for us on Christmas. The house was warm and cozy from all the baking, and it had these wonderful scents. After we cooked, we prepared the dinner table for the guests. The best chinaware and silverware would come out and we had to wipe everything with a cloth first. As the guests arrived, they were served drinks and appetizers that included crispy spanakopitas, tzatziki sauce, and small meatballs. When it was time for dinner, everyone went to the dinner table carrying their wine glass and small appetizer plate. Another table was reserved for the young ones because there wasn’t enough room for us all to fit at the dinner table. The adults would say a toast, and everyone would drink to it. Then, just as we were enjoying ourselves, it was time to clear the table and wash and dry the dishes. With us girls helping my mom out, we had a regular institution. There were no dishwashers in those days. There usually was a sing-along with Christmas songs later in the evening. Often my father was in a good mood, and he would start telling funny stories that would have us cackling with laughter. By the time we went to sleep, I was full, happy, and exhausted.
After these magical Christmases, we grew up, and then we got busy. Some of us married and moved away, while others went to school, and it was never the same after that. Yet, Christmas remains a special time in our hearts, not only because of family gatherings, but because of Jesus’s birth.
Christmas was not only the day of Christ’s birth, but it was also my father’s name day because his name was Christos. My mom would always invite people for dinner to celebrate his name day. She would bake Greek pastries and cookies days before Christmas. There were crispy koulourakia twisted in different shapes, and nut-filled finikia, and trays of baklava, and powdered kourabiedes. She made more than we could ever eat just so she could fill a plate with cookies to give to each dinner guest as they were leaving.
The baking wasn’t the only thing I remember about Christmas. Then there were the Christmas cards to write and mail and the shopping for gifts.
On Christmas Eve, we’d wash and dress in our fine Sunday clothes and go to church and attend the services so that on Christmas day, we’d be home. Jesus’s birth is such a special occasion in our lives.On Christmas morning, we’d jump out of our beds and rush down to the Christmas tree. My mom liked to stuff the stockings with small candies and little toys and would hide them, and on Christmas day we would see them hanging over the mantle. But we were clever, though, and would discover where she hid them, and sometimes the stockings were not always full on Christmas day, and she would be dismayed and would scold us. We’d hang our heads in shame, and the following year, she’d become wise to us and hide them elsewhere. It was a mouse and cat game until we got older, and then she stopped stuffing the stockings, and we started filling them ourselves just to keep the tradition.
When my youngest sister was around four or five (I was eleven years older), she still believed in Santa Clause, and we would do special things for her. It was fun just watching her reaction. Sometimes, Santa Clause would “forget” his bag of gifts under the tree, and we’d say, “Oh, look, Santa Clause forgot his bag. Let’s see what’s inside.” And we’d have all the gifts inside there.
Another time, my dad dressed up as Santa Claus and came unexpectedly wearing a red suit and red hat. He didn’t even warn us about it, so we (the older sisters) were shocked to see this man who looked like Santa Claus appear in our house saying Merry Christmas in Greek! He had this luxurious white mustache, and he had put a pillow under his red suit to make him look fat, and when he wore the red hat, he honestly looked like Santa Clause. My little sister’s mouth popped wide open as she stared at him. I’m pretty sure we all looked like that. My mom tried to hold back her laughter as she gestured to us older girls to let us know it was our father.
The tricky part was how to accomplish this Santa Claus act without giving it away to our little sister. So he came and did his thing and ho-ho-hoed, clutching his big belly while laughing and wiping his mustache with enthusiasm, while we giggled uncontrollably. Then he asked her in Greek if she was a good girl or a naughty girl. Of course, she said she was a good girl, then he gave her and us all our gifts and said he had to leave for the other children. She waved goodbye, staring as if she had seen a ghost. When he returned a half-hour later from the basement, he was his old self. By then, my little sister was too busy playing with her new toys to pick up on what had happened. My other sisters and I were talking about it for days.
Another time, we would fill a plate with fresh cookies on Christmas Eve and tell my sister we were leaving them there for Santa Claus to eat because he would be too busy to stop by on Christmas morning. We made sure several of them were eaten by morning. “Oh look, Santa Claus ate the cookies because he was hungry. Oh, look, he left a note for us. It says, Thank you for the cookies! You’ve been very good!”
So after we opened our gifts, we’d either try on our new clothes or play with the games. One year, we all played our musical instruments (piano, flute, violin, clarinet), and it was fun playing Christmas songs together. In the early afternoon, we’d start getting ready for dinner, slicing and dicing vegetables and making spanakopitas, pastitsio, and sweet potatoes, and roasting the meat. It was just a very busy day for us on Christmas. The house was warm and cozy from all the baking, and it had these wonderful scents. After we cooked, we prepared the dinner table for the guests. The best chinaware and silverware would come out and we had to wipe everything with a cloth first. As the guests arrived, they were served drinks and appetizers that included crispy spanakopitas, tzatziki sauce, and small meatballs. When it was time for dinner, everyone went to the dinner table carrying their wine glass and small appetizer plate. Another table was reserved for the young ones because there wasn’t enough room for us all to fit at the dinner table. The adults would say a toast, and everyone would drink to it. Then, just as we were enjoying ourselves, it was time to clear the table and wash and dry the dishes. With us girls helping my mom out, we had a regular institution. There were no dishwashers in those days. There usually was a sing-along with Christmas songs later in the evening. Often my father was in a good mood, and he would start telling funny stories that would have us cackling with laughter. By the time we went to sleep, I was full, happy, and exhausted.
After these magical Christmases, we grew up, and then we got busy. Some of us married and moved away, while others went to school, and it was never the same after that. Yet, Christmas remains a special time in our hearts, not only because of family gatherings, but because of Jesus’s birth.
..did you ever go to Greece to celebrate Christmas ?... I've been to Greece many times, but never at Christmas time,...
Were there any places in Greece that you particularly liked?
