Remembering Thanksgiving, Family, FRiends, and FReedom..

The voyage of the Mayflower in 1620 from Plymouth England, to Plymouth Rock started as a journey to find peace and justice in a new world. It began as a fervent prayer to give freedom a chance, and remains today as the promise each year for a new beginning. Thanksgiving Day is a celebration of hope, and remembrance.

Today, we bring our families and friends together to share our tables and our hearts, and give thanks for all that we have to be grateful for in our new and glorious country. From this grand experiment and it's courageous settlers, to the greatest nation of the world, we have a lot to be thankful for, indeed.

My earliest memory of Thanksgiving was the fuss of preparation of the wonderful food being prepared in advance of our holiday feast. Being a traditional Italian American, midwestern home, a full cornucopia of cookies of every ethnicity was in abundance. Thanksgiving morning was a special treat with a home filled with the scent of baking bread, and roasted turkey which transformed our tiny cold water flat in "Little Italy" on the lower East side of Chicago into a 3 room palace. Everyone was involved, family and friends, young and old, with 4 generations of our own majestic women.

An unspoken but respected hierarchy prevailed, with the eldest women in control, and a dance like rhythm appeared to take charge of this traditional and noble endeavor. It didn't take long before our small kitchen and dinning room filled, and every flat surface was covered. People scurried into the hallway, where neighbors shuffled pans and pots in and out of their homes to their own kitchens to make room for more, always more so everyone could share in the abundance.

Preparation started days earlier, with the making of the pasta. I recall my great aunt bringing in the clothesline from our back porch, the one that strung across the small yard to the adjacent porch and back. She washed and bleached this cord to string across our living and dining rooms, from sconces to chandelier, and doorjambs to windowsills. It was strung as tight as possible to hold the pounds of lasagna noodle, and spaghetti needed to hang dry, to satisfy the hearty Italian appetites. I recall as if it were yesterday listening to our nightly radio programs with the shadows of stringing pasta on the faded floral wallpaper, lending an eerie overtone to the Green hornet, or Gangbusters.

How could I ever forget opening my eyes in the morning with the sight of hanging pasta overhead, but then, why in the world would I want to forget that magical moment after all, and what it meant to a young boy that a wonderful and glorious holiday was just around the corner?

Each family was represented in the choice of menu items. Every wonderful cook in each branch of the family offered to prepare their own special version of the chosen food. This made for a memorable feast indeed, there were at least 4 successful individual restaurant owners in our family. The competition was playful and fun filled, with chunks of bread, ladles, and spoons dipping into everything, testing, tasting, and teasing.

It should not be construed that the food preparation was the exclusive province of our family women, to do so would be to underestimate the culinary contributions of some of the finest cooks in the clan. A few of my uncles, cousins and grandpa were cooks in the Army, Navy, and Marines, as well as in their own restaurants.

My great uncle served as a cook in the Italian army, then captured and recruited to cook in the prisoner-of-war camp, when upon his release, served 2 tours as a cook in the US Marines during The Korean War. However, whatever greatness the men may have achieved in the outside world, the kitchen was ruled by those formidable, yet diminutive, strikingly gorgeous, black clad matriarchs of the family. Great grandmothers from both sides of the lineage, grandmothers, great grandmother-in-laws, and great great aunts. Man I'll tell ya, it was a sight to behold at best, and an Italian culinary rivalry at least. Although sharing an Italian heritage, the 6 uncles married outside the Calabrian niche, creating a scrumptious provincial food fight.

Children weren't immune from the holiday chores. Chairs were pulled up to the stove for short perpetual stirrers. The teens were given the sink, for the neverending pots and pans, and preteens were runners for last minute fetches and food deliveries. I was honored almost exclusively with the delivery of food for the church and hospital shut-ins because I had the bike with a giant basket.

Trying to describe my cousins and most of the local kids wasn't hard, the first thing I recall was, hair, lots of black hair, big doe eyes, dozens of beautiful children with wide grins. At least one kid, sometimes more, was forced to bring his or her accordion, and at every holiday gathering some poor child was browbeaten into playing "Lady Of Spain"!

Serving 30-40 people, in a one bedroom apartment on the 3rd floor, rear, walkup, was a challenge, but doable. It took the coordination of most of our wonderful neighbors, and the cooperation of all of the residence, which were always invited anyway. Everyone brought pots, pans, dishes, and utensils, at least a chair, and some brought their kitchen tables.

Everyone brought something eatable, most were prearranged as in bread, but some were heirloom dessert recipes, enough for at least a good spoonful, for everyone to get a taste. Older adults, always got a chair at the table, all adults got a seat, and kids sat at the card tables, on the stairs or on a carpet in front of the radio in one of the neighbors homes.

All kids had to be within earshot of the saying of the formal Grace before dinner. Then everyone recited their own prayer in various languages of their native tongue. Our family and friends were of many faiths and nationalities, the overwhelming majority of coarse were Italian. Most remembered a loved one not present, and the names of every absent serviceman and woman were individually read aloud. With all heads bowed, everyone gave thanks for the wonderful gifts of food and health, and each and every person present, gave a special thanks and how grateful they were for being in the United States of America.

Any good excuse to gather the clan in our family was and still is, paramount. Weddings, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, births, baptisms and unfortunately funerals are used as good excuses to get together and, you guessed it.... eat. This is usually done at the familial home of eldest member of the family. The Italian family circle is close and tight, and many families still living within their hometown, even today, live within walking distance of one another.

In our family, as in many, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins grow as one family unit. The elders live within the homes of their offspring or siblings. The hierarchy is established by the ability of the surviving parents to have living arrangements central to the greatest number of kids and kin. Love of family is the reason, and love of food is the cement. Thanksgiving is one of the most popular days of the year, and has been since my earliest memory. Even today as I did with my parents in my youth, I talk to each of my 5 children and grandchildren, almost everyday, and have even when we lived thousands of miles away... I am truly blessed.

Food for an Italian holiday is second to only to the family. Present at every holiday feast were several types of entree, lasagna, ham, veal, and one or more specialty pasta and of course the giant stuffed Turkeys. There were Kosher dishes aplenty for our many Jewish friends. Our next door neighbor kept a Kosher kitchen and always shared their wonderful food with us as we did in return.

Not counted as entrees were homemade sausages, meatballs, and grilled peppers. A strange calzone, one I recall with nuts and octopus was always somewhere on the table as was braciole (Italian beef rolls, and great cannoli desserts were always compliments of our Sicilian side of the family).

Salads and antipasto were a mainstay, with favorites cellentani con Insalata di Peperoni (cellentani with pepper salad), and the ever popular soups, usually a bean, as in minestrone. Breads, rolls, pizza and a mixed variety of biscotti, were always in abundance. Side dishes were a meal in themselves.

A vast array of vegetables prepared as specialty items, like artichoke and bacon frittata rounded out every holiday meal. Even our popular lasagne, the recipe that created a chain of famous restaurants, has broccoli or spinach as a principle ingredient to the recipe. Desserts... oh my, great custards, and pastries, ice creams and cakes such as lemon berry tiramisu or frittelle di zucca (pumpkin fritters)

My grandfather sat at the head of the table, and next to him sat a gallon jug of his homemade Italian red wine. Almost everyone seated for dinner were given a glass of his wine, if only for the many toasts that were posed, to the cooks and a milieu of other celebrations. The moment of truth came when he would call the name of the boys that he felt were to be worthy of manhood, a scholarship know only to him, usually by some unknown merit method.

If you attained that status in his trusted eye, he would invite you to accept a glass of wine and he would toast your new position and with everyone's applause you drank a glass and thanked him.

When my moment came, I had just turned 10, and having worked with him on his paper stand in downtown Chicago for 3 years and to my surprise he felt I was ready! Proudly I swallowed a huge gulp, and felt the heat go down my throat and explode at the core of my stomach and began to rush back up. I forced a smiled and swallowed again and hugged him as tight as I could, until my uncle secretly handed me a chunk of bread, which I bit into and forced down before I let my pa loose, perhaps in the nick of time because he slapped me on the back and everything went back down... I never drank another drop of his wine, but accepted his offer to take a glass, each time he offered it until he passed a year later. How I loved that man.

The Carving At each end of the long tables were placed huge turkeys. The head of the households were given the honor of carving these beautifully prepared, golden trophies. It was a ritual and with surgical skills each bird was sliced and distributed to all in attendance until nothing remained but the bare bones.

At the conclusion of this wonderful occasion, the men stood and with glasses raised toasted the blushing ladies as we sang... in our best voice, and in Italian, a song dedicated to our wonderful women, .. "Mamma"

My dear lysie, reading about your mom, and how you miss her, reminds me about an interesting story about me and my little Mom.. Little, because she was tiny, as in 4’10” and skinny as a pencil when she was young..

Her birthday was Nov. 11, Veterans Day every year.. As such, I always associated the flying of the Flags with her birthday.. I just thought everyone was celebrating her when everyone put flags out.. LOL..

However, her apparent patriotism caused me some distress when I was a very young typical Italian, inner city hooligan.. We, my buddies and I were playing stick ball in the middle of the street, when a ball that I hit broke a window.. We were warned that this would happen if we persisted in playing ball so close to the buildings.. But as kids, who didn’t believe it would happen because we were too good at hitting.. LOL

Well we did what kids do, we ran away and hid.. However, it wasn’t long before there was a big Irish Cop at our front door, asking for my Mom, and I to come out to the stoop, and answer a few questions.. GULP

The policeman had a few of my friends with them.. They were starring down at their shoes, so I knew I was doomed.. When he asked if I was the one that hit the ball, I looked at the Cop, and at my Mom, and answered yes.. I did it, and I thought that was it, I was going to the Big House for Life, or maybe even the Electric Chair..

Here is were the Flags come in, this window that we.. “I”.. broke, had Flags all over the place and the window I broke, had a Red Banner with 3 Stars on it! (an indication that the home had 3 veterans) Also the Cop said this home was an old widow, that had little or no money to fix the window..

I felt horrible, and looked up at my Mom and a tear was running down her cheek.. That was it, I wanted to die! I put my hands out, as if asking for handcuffs, like I saw at the movies.. Ha!

After a few torturous moments, the Cop said that the VFW would pay for the window if I and my friends would agree to clean off the headstones, and clean around the graves at the Memorial Cemetery before Veterans Day??..

Thats it! Sure we would, and we would get off SCOTT FREE? Not so fast, my Mom said we should do it before every Holiday that year.. There were 500 headstones, and we ended up doing it every year until I/we, graduated from high School..

With the Korean War there were so many more new graves, some of which were cousins, brothers, friends, and fathers of ours, that it became a real tear-fest toward the end..

I never regretted doing it, and every family of ours brought the rest of their family with us to add flowers to the graves.. I bring small Flags for each grave to our little Memorial Cemetery, each and every year to this day..

I felt horrible, and looked up at my Mom and a tear was running down her cheek.. That was it, I wanted to die! I put my hands out, as if asking for handcuffs, like I saw at the movies.. Ha!

With the Korean War there were so many more new graves, some of which were cousins, brothers, friends, and fathers of ours, that it became a real tear-fest toward the end..

I felt horrible, and looked up at my Mom and a tear was running down her cheek.. That was it, I wanted to die! I put my hands out, as if asking for handcuffs, like I saw at the movies.. Ha!

With the Korean War there were so many more new graves, some of which were cousins, brothers, friends, and fathers of ours, that it became a real tear-fest toward the end..

You guys are a couple of fuddyduddies, that sap this stuff up.. thank G-D.. LOL

BTW.. LOL.. Funny thing about those RED BANNERS with Stars on them.. I used to read everything when I was a kid.. I remember reading something about the flag of Texas with a single star on it, and at first I thought all of the banners in the windows in our “Little Italy” neighborhood in Chicago, were people from Texas!

I thought WOW, Texas couldn’t be much if all these Italians were leave there and coming here to Chicago.. Hahahahahahha

We have many things in common, carlo.

I broke a few windows in my day, too. My brother, his friends and I played baseball in the front yard of our housing project ( a wonderful place at the time). I remember the superintendent of project coming to our apartment to discuss the matter with mom. It seemed that after that we were able to direct the ball away from the windows. BTW, my brother still tells people that his sister has the longest homerun. LOL

Then, there was the year that my brother and I had the urge to soap windows on Halloween like many of our friends did. Mom warned us NOT to. We sort off didn't heed her warning. We decided to soap our own. Ha! Dummies. When mom asked who did it we told the truth. Carlo, we learned that it's hard getting soap off windows and screens. LOL

My gramp was the founder of the Fulton Veteran's Council. All of his adult life he organized the Memorial Day parade and decorated all the graves in his county with flags. My brother and I would help. It was quite an honor.

One year some people suggested to gramp that the parade should have balloons and other "circus" type things for sale. Oh, and fireworks. Gramp insisted that the event was not a celebration , but a time to remember. It was sad that after he passed away they allowed balloons and fireworks.

We are going out this year, but I shall miss making the turkey and having the family all around. Actually, roasting the turkey is the easiest part of T’Giving dinner. It’s getting everything on the table at the same time and hot that is the problem. And prying the men away from the TV.

We shall be dining at an establishment that dates from the 1840s.

http://www.foxandhoundsrestaurant.com/

Menu:

We’ll eat well, but it won’t be the same as it is with familly:

http://www.foxandhoundsrestaurant.com/events/entry/46/

You can almost read my mind my sweet woman.. That could have gotten you in trouble in earlier years, I’m sure.. LOLOL However that was then, and this is now.. What I have become is akin to a Town Crier, not as in boo hoo, but more like a whistle blower, that sounds the alarm when history bumps into the present and future..

Having lived long enough to remember events as they happened, and not how they are being written, and not selectively retold with agendas, and bias.. To be honest, I too have a selective memory, but in a way that the folks that read my drivel, would have seen these events as they unfolded, with Country, National interest in mind, with the history of this great experiment has been at the ready for Justice, throughout the world, and proud of what we have achieved..

So I will remind you folks what it was like when things were a bit less divisive, less complicated, and much more patriotic..

People that enjoy those fond memories, will read my stuff, and remember things that have been shuffled under the weight of years of problems and faded by times and places..
I waste your time with smiles and laughs at ourselves, because I never really grew up, or at least I may have the blessing of selective dementia..

You my dear girl and everyone that read these musings need to share your stories, so we too can jog our brains to spill the beans on the history of better times.. GOD BLESS YOU, and all of our friends.. Carlo

Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.