Happy Friday,
If I keep my eyes straight ahead, I won't see it there, haunting the corner of my eye.
Tall red candles that made little eyes shine, little brother standing on tippy toes on a wooden chair to light them, Mama’s hands cupped around his.
Auntie Emily laughing, round cheeks rosy like apples. Aunties and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and nephews. Big and small boots jumbled by the front door and coats piled three layers deep on Mama's big bed.
Mama counting heads as big sister stirs the gravy.
Only twenty five?
Where is everybody?
It's early yet, Mama. They had to work. Don’t worry. They’ll come.
Ragtag bunch of us, loud, laughing, speaking too many languages. So many of us, Mama opened the door for air, nevermind that it was minus forty out there.
Today is Ukrainian Christmas.
It is the Christmas of my childhood and like old Ebenezer, I am visited by the ghosts of Christmas past.
Unlike that old cuss, mine don’t arrive with moans and chains and harsh admonitions. No, mine arrive with rosy cheeks and laughter, and whispers of remember when.
With a heart full of nostalgia, I am off to cook Ukrainian food with my daughter. When the kitchen is too warm even for a cold winter day, we will light the candles and set one empty place at the table in memory of those no longer here.
Then we’ll stuff ourselves silly.
As Dad would say — Dobrý den, my friends,
and God bless us, every one.
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Thanks for reading!
xo,
Linda
Oh, I am late to this but I hope your celebration was full of light, joy, love and wondrous food
Lovely. We share a common thread - my spouse Peter is a Ukrainian American. His maternal and paternal grandparents emigrated here - whenever. They settled in “coal country,” NE Pennsylvania.