Category: Holidays

“Snow Sausages,” a Christmas Story of Love and Loss, December 1968

Family traditions are an important element of the Christmas holiday season, and the old West Side of Buffalo had some unique ones.

My recently published novel, Virgin Snow, includes the following vignette, which I have learned over the course of several book-signings and discussions has struck a chord with many readers. This story of a family holding onto its Christmas Eve rituals, while coping with a recent tragedy, is something I too have experienced, although much later in life. I share it here to remind us all that the holiday season, while joyful, can also be a time of sorrow for some, and there is no better time than Christmas to hold our loved ones close.

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On Christmas Eve, Cosi McCarthy and her older sister, Little Ange, dragged a half-frozen pine tree out of the trunk of their father’s old Ford Falcon, up the linoleum-covered stairs, and into their apartment, leaving a trail of melting snow and pine needles in their wake. Cosi was thrilled when her mother, Big Ange, said they could stay up past midnight to welcome Jesus’ birthday, grill some meat, and “break the fast” they had all been observing during Advent. At dinner, they had the traditional “feast of the seven fishes,” though all they could afford was pasta with canned clam sauce. “Seven clams on each plate,” said Big Ange. “Close enough,”

As the hour approached, neighbors began to drag out their charcoal grills. Later, after attending midnight mass, they would return to cook spicy Italian sausages to signal an end to the six-week fast. Cosi knew her parents, like others in the neighborhood, usually observed this ritual long after the children were in bed. This Christmas Eve, the first without her husband, Big Ange would let the girls participate.

Cosi decorated the tree with her mother while her little brother Nino slept, and Little Ange stood in the driveway, attempting to light the charcoal briquettes in the rusting grill. The snow was falling in big wet flakes, making the charcoal difficult to light.

“This is effing stupid, Mama” called Little Ange several times from the driveway.

Cosi, in her nightgown, winter coat, and rubber boots, came out with an umbrella. She held it over her sister while Little Ange squirted more lighter fluid and tried again. Before long, the coals were burning brightly. Big Ange came down with a string of sausages, bought earlier that day from Zarcone’s, then went back up to fry onions and green peppers while the girls stood under the umbrella and watched the meat sizzle.

The night seemed magical to Cosi. The softly falling snow, the companionable heat of the coals, and the delightful aroma wafting from the grill, wrapped her in a warm cocoon of love, neighborhood, and family. She stepped outside the umbrella, closed her eyes and let the flakes tickle her cheeks.

“Hey,” said Little Ange, looking at her watch. “It’s Christmas. Wanna smoke a joint to celebrate?”

“Are you crazy?” Cosi hissed.

Their mother appeared out of nowhere, holding a plate of warm rolls filled with the fried vegetables. Little Ange shot her sister a warning but Cosi knew better than to say anything. The snow slowed to a few flakes and Big Ange stuck the string of sausages with a long fork and neatly cut off two for each of them, nestling them carefully in the buns. She had also brought down three small glasses of Whiskey Sours, topped with maraschino cherries, and stood silently for a moment, looking at the glowing briquettes. She handed Cosi the plate of sausages, turned her face to the dark sky, and held up her glass.

“Salud,” said Big Ange, “and Merry Christmas, Johnny, wherever you are. Our little Cositina, you will be proud to know, is on her way to becoming a nun. Little Ange is, well, what you’d expect. Nino is doing OK and I am making a little money. We’re trying our best down here, so if you do see God, please ask him to make next year a better one for the McCarthy family.”

Little Ange drank her Whiskey Sour in one gulp, handed Cosi her sausages, and walked down the snowy street to smoke her Christmas joint.

Excerpted from the novel, “Virgin Snow” by Moxie Gardiner, NFB Publishing, copyright 2023. All rights reserved.

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Do you have memories of a Christmas like this one, or family rituals you would like to share? If so, please do so in the comments below.    

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and enjoys a good Zumba routine on winter evenings . Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Whatever Happened to Beggar’s Night?

I have to wonder why the holiday is no longer popular in more Buffalo communities.

Long ago, deep in a West Side neighborhood where every house, on every block, was home to a passel of children, Beggar’s Night (October 30th) was something to behold. Legions of small monsters, ghosts, and superheroes knocked on the doors of neighbors, sometimes blocks away, in search of candy. Those of us who lived there at that time brought large brown shopping bags to collect our loot, and didn’t come home until the bag was getting too heavy to carry.

Little kids dressing up for Halloween
We loved Trick-or-Treating on Beggar’s Night.

A little research suggests that the tradition started back in the late 1930s when city fathers wanted to give the younger children a safer alternative to the hell-raising and vandalizing that was a significant part of Halloween at that time. No one ever told us this was the plan, so we happily went out trick-or-treating both nights, usually in homemade costumes made by our very thrifty and clever mom.

It seems that nowadays Beggar’s Night, for the most part, has gone the way of Michaelmas and Festivus—a holiday still celebrated, but only by a devoted few. In Buffalo, two communities—Kaisertown and Lovejoy—still carry on the tradition with gusto. They even have their own Facebook page providing updates on some of the best places to get candy. Beggar’s Night is also still a very big thing in Central Ohio, with the Mid-Ohio Regional Planning Commission organizing Beggar’s Night activities for the region.

Pinocchio costume
Apples used to be a special treat on Halloween.

As a now mature adult, I have to wonder why the holiday is no longer popular in more Buffalo communities, especially if the whole idea is to have a separate, safer night for the younger children. Maybe it’s because communities are no longer experiencing the rowdyism that used to be the hallmark of Halloween. Or, perhaps homeowners got tired of answering the door and shelling out candy two nights in a row.

Homemade Halloween costumes
Mom made our costumes back then.

Or maybe it’s because Halloween night itself is now big business, and no longer just for kids. Adults are expected to shell out over $4 billion for costumes this year and 32% of them will either go to a Halloween party or throw one of their own. Even pets are getting in on the act, with Americans expecting to spend some $700 million on costumes for their fur babies.

This year I will be trick-or-treating for the first time in a long time, now that I have a four-year-old in my life. I will be curious to see how kid-friendly Halloween is these days, and determine for myself whether or not Beggar’s Night should regain its rightful place in the list of US holidays to be celebrated.

Did you celebrate Beggar’s Night in your neighborhood? Please share your stories in the comments below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Why Buffalonians Will Always Love Spring Break

As long as there are long, snowy months in Buffalo, there will be snowbirds of every age winging their way to the Land of Sunshine.

Imagine, if you will, that it is late March or early April in Buffalo, and daytime temperatures are still hovering in the 30s as they have for the past five months or so. A thick gray blanket of cloud continues to obscure the sun and there are very few green things poking through the half-frozen mud. You are tired of brushing snow from your windshield and avoiding ice wherever you walk. You long to be warm again, feel the sun on your face, and to be shed of the three layers of winter clothing that make you look ten pounds heavier than you actually are.

The hotel was nice enough, considering the price. All photos by Moxie Gardiner.

At least, that’s how I felt when I was a freshman at Buffalo State College and first learned about something called “spring break.” The school was sponsoring a bus trip down to Daytona Beach, Florida the week before Easter, and the price included a shared hotel room. Once I determined that I’d get a couple hundred dollars back from my tax return—enough to cover both bus and room—I called several girlfriends and signed us up.

There was, I’ll admit, always a bit of craziness around the pool.

Having never traveled such a long distance from Buffalo in my life, I failed to ask a few pertinent questions like, how long will the bus trip take (24 hours with stops) how many bathrooms will there be on the bus (one), and how many people to a hotel room (four).  Small matters, it might seem, when you are young and adventurous, until the bus begins to smell of vomit after six hours of non-stop drinking, and your girlfriends want to invite new “friends” to spend the night in your hotel room.

There was a band at every hotel, entertaining us for free! Thought I’d died and gone to heaven….

At the time, I thought spring break was a new and novel idea, but have since found out that the concept has been around for a long time. The Greeks and Romans, if you want to go back that far, were the first to invent the spring bacchanalia, which included wine, sex, and various forms of debauchery to celebrate the arrival of the vernal equinox. But spring break, in its current form, is attributed to a swimming coach at Colgate University (a fellow New Yorker) who wanted his swim team to get some early spring training back in the 1930s. The idea apparently caught on and many northern college swim teams began making the annual trek to warmer climes.

Now spring break is an annual tradition enjoyed by students in many countries and is considered by some to be one of the more memorable collegiate experiences. For Americans, Florida is no longer the primary destination. The Bahamas, Hawaii, Mexico and Arizona are among the top trending travel destinations for spring break 2023. Florida apparently makes up only 18% of overall bookings.

The tire blew to smithereens, which created a bit of excitement.
But after chilling out for several hours, we were back on the road again….

With one or two exceptions, (like the time our Blue Bird bus blew a tire and went skidding off the road into the North Carolina wilderness), my spring break experiences were fairly tame by modern standards. We partied, of course, listened to bands, played volleyball, and went swimming in the ocean. But my favorite thing to do was catch fish and bring them to a local restaurant, where the kitchen would clean and prepare your fish and serve it with sides for about $5. All very innocent, as I said.

Motorbikes of all kinds ply the hard packed sands of Daytona Beach.

How then, has spring break taken such a bad turn in recent years? According to recent articles, on South Padre Island, police report an average of 25 arrests per day during the typical spring break week. In Panama City, where the spring break season extends through March and into April, there were almost 700 arrests in the first few weeks of March alone. In Miami, multiple weekends of violence have left two people dead, hundreds arrested and dozens of guns confiscated by law enforcement officers. Whatever happened to drinking a few beers and nuzzling under a palm tree?

Me and my catch of the day (the fish, that is).

It is a shame that what was once a rite of passage for college kids—where getting too sunburned was your greatest concern—has in some places become dangerous and potentially deadly. I hate to be one of these people who talk about how things were so much better back in the day, but in this case I think they might have been.

That said, I don’t think it will matter much to Buffalonians. As long as there are long, snowy months in Buffalo, there will be always be snowbirds of every age winging their way to the Land of Sunshine.

Did you ever participate in spring break? What was it like for your generation? I would love to hear your stories.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

A Buffalo Christmas to Remember

Everyone in my hometown of Buffalo, NY will have a story to tell about the “bombogenesis” blizzard that hit the city late this December, just as many of its native sons and daughters were traveling home to be with family for the Christmas holidays. I was one of those making the journey.

We walked through knee-deep snow to check on an elderly neighbor when we saw no lights in his house for two days. Thankfully, he was fine. All photos in this blog by Moxie Gardiner.

Fortunately, my story, unlike that of some others, is not a tragic one. As I write this the death toll in Erie County stands at 39 and may continue to climb as government workers and ordinary citizens uncover cars and homes buried in snow. Many residences lost power and heat for days, while temperatures outside dropped into the single digits (with wind chills plummeting to levels too low to contemplate as the winds raged between 70-80 mph). There are tales of first-responders trapped in their vehicles in whiteout conditions while attempting to assist those with medical emergencies, and of people becoming disoriented in the snow and dying within close proximity of their homes.  

Gale force winds weren’t going to stop this Bills fan from flying his flag on Christmas Eve.

Inevitably, some of the stories coming out now are political, complete with finger-pointing, second-guessing, and blame-casting. I will let the news organizations sort all that out. Certainly, it is important after being hit with the “storm of the century” that all concerned take a retrospective look at what could be done better next time. But I want to go on record with my story because I’m sure it’s representative of how ordinary people cope and come together in the face of an extraordinary disaster.

Buffalo is no stranger to winter storms, but this one was surprising in its ferocity. I was in my car, heading north into the city early Friday morning, December 23rd, somewhat reassured by updates from my son that conditions were “not that bad” where he was. Between 8 am and 9 am the temperature dropped rapidly and the winds began to rattle my car as I drove along Lake Shore Road, with large waves visibly crashing at water’s edge. Large branches were cracking and falling off trees, and when I reached the Thruway, I began to see jackknifed tractor trailers and cars that had skidded off the road. Rain turned to swirling snow in minutes. I said a prayer and got off the highway as soon as possible. I made it to my son’s house 20 minutes before the mandatory driving ban went into effect.

What was supposed to be a brief visit with family for dinner on Christmas Eve, and the opening of presents on Christmas morning, turned into an unanticipated five-day stay. Six of us had to figure out how to peacefully co-exist in a house with two bedrooms and one bathroom. There was no possibility that the food ordered for the holiday festivities could be picked up or delivered, so we made the most of the groceries and beverages we had. My son’s fiancé had wanted us all to shelter under one roof, and I will be forever grateful for her insistence that we gather in their new home to take care of each other.

We woke to beautiful sunshine on Christmas morning. The storm was over and the clean-up could begin.
Those who had neighbors with snow blowers were the lucky ones.

All through the blizzard my son would go out and start our cars so the batteries wouldn’t die, clear snow from heating vents and exhaust pipes, and check on neighbors. The young woman across the street was due to deliver her baby any day and we were prepared to assist with the delivery if she was unable to get to the hospital. We checked on an elderly neighbor next door to make sure he had enough food and his heat was working. When the storm was over, we paid a local company to plow the driveways of several nearby homes.

Others relied on a team with snow shovels to help dig them out.

Buffalo is known as “The City of Good Neighbors” and stories of Good Samaritans helping others were abundant throughout Erie County, the hardest hit area in New York state. We were worried about my elderly father who was home alone in Clarence during the storm and unreachable by car, but a neighbor he barely knew knocked on the door, fixed his broken thermostat, cleared enough snow for my Dad’s dog to get out and do her business, and brought him meatloaf for dinner. Thanks to this stranger, we could all breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that my Dad had someone to turn to in an emergency.

The Buffalo Bills’ win on Christmas Eve brightened everyone’s spirits, and as the sun rose on Christmas morning I got to see a three-year-old open her presents amid squeals of delight and repeated thanks to Santa and Rudolph for making it through the storm. Four generations of my new family came together under trying circumstances to celebrate Christmas with kindness, generosity, patience, and good cheer. No doubt the story of the Christmas blizzard of 2022 will be shared with many future generations, and in our case it will be told with a deep sense of gratitude that our winter’s tale had a happy ending.  

There is nothing more precious than the face of a three-year-old on Christmas morning.

Do you have a story you would like to share about the winter storm of Christmas 2022? Good or bad, please share. We’ll be telling these stories for years to come because, like the famous Blizzard of 1977, this was one for the record books.

The clean-up will take time. Some are counting on this weekend’s rain and warm weather to wash away large mounds of snow.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

Paying Homage to Poland, Pussy Willows, and Dyngus Day

People all over western New York are embracing the “spirit of Polonia,” even if for only a day.

Let me begin by saying that Poland has been on my mind lately. As I read news reports of millions of Ukrainians crossing the Polish border to escape the conflict with Russia, I cannot help but be impressed by how Poland, a relatively small country with about a tenth of the US’ population, has welcomed the refugees with open arms.[1]  What is it about the Polish people, I wondered, that inspires this kind of largesse?

Even a West Sider can appreciate pierogi.

Growing up in a city like Buffalo, which once boasted one of the largest Polish communities in the world outside of Warsaw, I was familiar with Polish sausage and pierogi. But beyond Polish food, those of us who grew up on the Sicilian West Side when I did, knew little about our East Side neighbors. I decided that the next time I went back, I would explore “Old Polonia,” one of Buffalo’s “cities within a city,” to see what I could learn about the Polish diaspora, and I did so at a most opportune time—Easter weekend. 

The place to begin, of course, is the historic Broadway Market at the crossroads of Old Polonia, on the Saturday before Easter.[2] The market, with its fresh produce and flowers, meat and deli counters, and distinctly Polish cultural products, has remained more or less the same as it was when it was established in 1888. At 8 am, the parking lot was already full, and we followed a cheerful but determined crowd down the escalator and into the heart of the teeming market.

The first thing I noticed were huge signs advertising Dyngus Day (more about that later) a uniquely Polish-American holiday held on the Monday after Easter. The second thing I noticed was a jostling mob, elbowing its way toward a certain deli counter. I was curious about what they were trying to buy. Pierogi? Kielbasa? No, they were trying to buy an Easter butter lamb before they all ran out. I watched a triumphant woman buy the last one from that vendor, while others walked away disappointed. It was not yet 8:30 am.

The last little butter lamb to go…

Freshly made butter lambs, I’ve come to find out, have become the centerpiece of many Easter dinner tables. According to Food and Wine magazine, the tradition originated in Central and Eastern Europe, and made its way to America with Catholic immigrants.[3] Apparently, Polish-Americans still call the butter lamb by its Polish name, baranek wielkanocny.

I followed my nose through the rest of the market, to stalls selling pierogi, kielbasa, czarnina soup and freshly grated horseradish. I chatted with a number of the proprietors, and asked about the crowns of colorful ribbons, red and white t-shirts, traditional Polish costumes, and “pussy willow passes” being sold in anticipation of Dyngus Day. “In Poland, do they always celebrate Dyngus Day on the Monday after Easter?” I asked one lady dressed in red and white from head to toe. She laughed. “I doubt anyone in Poland has ever heard of Dyngus Day. We invented it here in America, based on some very old Polish traditions.”  

Dyngus Day, I’ve learned, celebrates the end of Lent, the Easter holiday, and the joy of the coming spring. It builds on an old tradition of farm boys in Poland who wanted to attract the attention of certain girls come springtime, and did so by sprinkling them with water and hitting them on the legs with pussy willows.[4] Pussy Willows and water are a central part of the Dyngus Day festivities today.

Neither snow nor sleet can put a damper on the Dyngus Day parade. Photo courtesy of Steve Dlugosz and the Buffalo Rocket newspaper.

According to organizers, Buffalo is now the official Dyngus Day capital of the World, and the Dyngus Day parade has become its main attraction. What began as a tribute to an old Polish tradition is now a huge event featuring polka dancing, bands, and authentic Polish food and drink, as well as the parade. Attendance in 2019 was estimated at over 100,000, making it one of the largest one-day ethnic festivals in North America.

Why, you might ask, are Polish-Americans embracing their roots and cultural heritage to a degree not seen since the late 1800s when thousands of Polish immigrants poured into places like Buffalo, hoping to work in the steel mills and slaughterhouses, and provide a fresh start for their families? And what did I learn about the Polish people that might explain why they have welcomed more than 2 million Ukrainians into their country with open arms, fed and clothed them, and helped them find jobs?

Scenes from the Broadway Market

I was reminded that the Polish people have not forgotten what it is like to have their country occupied, to live as refugees, and to try to survive under terrible conditions. One Dyngus Day organizer, Eddy Dobosiewicz, writes that “the spirit of Polonia was and always will be at the forefront of humanity’s desire for freedom and liberty.” That “insatiable thirst for freedom,” he says, “is part of our Slavic DNA.”[5]

And so the Polish people, who deeply appreciate their freedom and those who helped them achieve it, pay it forward.

How wonderful it is that the celebration of Dyngus Day is spreading across western New York and indeed the rest of our country, and that people here are embracing the “spirit of Polonia,” even if for only a day. Are you Polish-American? What stories do you have to share? I would love to hear from you, in the comments below.  

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

[1] According to npr.org, Poland enacted a law last month allowing Ukrainians to legally live and work in Poland for at least 18 months, with the option to extend. About a quarter of the refugees have already found jobs. See https://www.npr.org/2022/04/06/1090902301/ukraine-refugees-poland-krakow#:~:text=More%20than%202%20million%20Ukrainians,with%20the%20option%20to%20extend.

[2] FYI, there is now an “Old Polonia Trail” map that can be found online.

[3] https://www.foodandwine.com/news/easter-butter-lamb-meaning

[4] Everything you ever wanted to know about Dyngus Day can be found on dyngusday.com.

[5] Quoted from an “eddytorial” by Eddy Dobosiewicz in the Dyngus Day Guide.

Merry West Side Christmas

Grandma was happiest surrounded by loved ones on Christmas.

This will be a difficult Christmas for me and my family, so permit me to indulge in a nostalgia trip, back to a happier time. I’ve had many wonderful Christmases at various stages of my life, but this year my elder relatives are on my mind, as are the wonderful traditions and memories that may be lost when they pass on. So this month’s blog will reflect on a typical West Side Christmas when I was growing up.

It was no doubt a lot of work for Grandma, but there was nothing we loved more than being at her house on Christmas.

I suspect that our traditions were similar to those of many West Side families, especially if your Grandmother was Sicilian. The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas were a frenzy of cookie baking, house cleaning, gift-wrapping, and shopping at the Italian corner stores and butchers. Grandma often took me with her to buy preparations for the Christmas meal, and as a reward, I got a tiny box of nougat candy called torrone which I can taste in my mind to this day.   

After school, Santa was on Channel 4 with his helper, Forgetful the Elf, and we kids would hold our breaths, hoping that Santa would read aloud one of the letters we sent him. My parents hung “The Chart” every year, a record of each child’s daily behavior, and some of us prayed that neither Santa nor his elves would see it, at least until after he left our gifts.

As Christmas drew nearer, I would walk with my brothers and sisters to either Woolworth’s or Kresge’s 5 and 10 cent store on Grant Street to buy gifts with our meager allowance. It was mandatory that everyone receive a gift, no matter how little money you had to spend. Rubber balls, paper dolls, chalk, and strips of caps for cap guns were among the affordable items.

I’m sure Santa cringed when he saw our family coming.

Once a year, of course, we would make our annual trip downtown to marvel at AM&A’s animated Christmas display, and to visit Santa. The downtown visit also included our once-a-year trip to a restaurant, usually the IHOP, where we got to eat breakfast for dinner, and put napkins in our laps like fancy people.

We went to church every Sunday during Advent, abstained from eating meat, and went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve when we were older (some neighbors were home grilling sausage just after midnight, to break the meatless fast). But when we were young, Christmas Eve was the night that we put up our un-decorated Christmas tree, hung our stockings, and went to bed early, only to lie awake most of the night, listening for the sound of reindeer landing on the roof and the rustle of Santa coming down the chimney.

It seems that we often had White Christmases back in the day, and waited impatiently for Dad to clean the snow off the car before we headed to Grandma’s.
Santa often stayed up until the wee hours, putting toys, trains, and games together.

At first light on Christmas morning, we would line up on the stairs according to age (as the oldest, I was always last). When my father gave the signal, we rushed down to see our now decorated tree, and what Santa had brought us. It was a mad, happy, chaotic scene of searching for gifts, opening boxes, and playing with our new acquisitions. Our stockings were always filled with walnuts in the shell, an orange (a Sicilian tradition) and a handful of Hershey’s Kisses.

There would be platters of homemade giuggiulena, pizzelles, butterballs, and other Italian cookies, but my favorites were always the figgy cuccidati.

Sometime in the early afternoon, we would head over to my grandparents’ small apartment where an enormous assortment of gifts sat on the living room couch, one for each of her children and grandchildren. Grandma always had a huge pot of sauce on the stove that you could smell coming up the stairs, freshly baked bread, and some sort of pasta, enough to feed all 30 or so family members who lived in the area. Sometimes Grandma would make homemade ravioli, and line the sheets of fresh pasta on towels in her bedroom to dry before filling them on Christmas morning.

I remember the year Grandma gave me my favorite doll, Cream Puff.

How I loved these family gatherings with all these wild and crazy relatives! We would dance, sing, joke, tease, eat, and eat some more. Always, my youngest aunt would organize us children to put on a Christmas play or pageant for the adults. It was never exactly up to Broadway standards, but Grandma always pretended to love it.

This was what Christmas was all about–having fun and being with family.

Those were the years when my large extended family was short on cash but long on love, and we had no worries about crowding all those people into a tiny apartment. It was all about being together. This is what I will miss most about Christmas this year; homemade comfort food, hugs, and an abundance of love. I want the younger generations, many of whom are also having a difficult time this year, to know more about our family and its traditions, to carry them on, and to know that it’s possible that one day we can have Christmases like this once again.

Merry Christmas to the thousands of you who have read my blogs and given me wonderful feedback in your comments. Virtual hugs to all of you, along with my sincere hope for a happy, healthy 2022.

Love to all, Moxie

Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

When the Saints Come Marching

The March celebrations honoring St. Patrick and St. Joseph couldn’t be more different.

The main feature of a St. Joseph’s Table is a beautiful altar with a statue of St. Joseph holding the child Jesus. Photo by Mateus Campos Felipe on Unsplash.

Back in the day, when the cold and blustery Ides of March arrived in Buffalo, many of us would set about preparing for two things guaranteed to lift us out of our winter doldrums: St. Patrick’s Day and St. Joseph’s Day. The beloved patron saints of Ireland and Sicily were revered all over the city, especially in the old waterfront neighborhoods settled by Irish and Sicilian immigrants, like the West Side where I grew up.  

Leprechauns and their pots of gold are today’s symbols of St. Patrick’s Day.

Being of Irish and Sicilian heritage, our family celebrated both days. On the 17th of March, long before we were old enough to visit an Irish pub, Mom would make cupcakes with green frosting, and drop a little bit of green dye in our milk. We would stand in the cold for hours watching the St. Patrick’s Day parade downtown, and proudly wear our “Kiss Me I’m Irish” shamrock pins, hoping for a peck on the cheek.

Two days later it was “Viva San Giuseppe” and a trip to our Sicilian relatives who always hosted the extended family’s St. Joseph’s Table. My eyes would light up at the sight of all of my favorite Sicilian foods: pasta con sarde, pasta fazool, carciofi, caponata, alivi scacciati, and plenty of other meatless dishes (it falls in the middle of Lent). Best of all was the dessert table, where cannoli, sfinge, cuccidati and zeppole held pride of place.

Of all the wonderful Sicilian desserts, cannoli is my favorite!

Despite the abundance of food, St. Joseph’s Day strikes a more solemn, religious note than St. Patrick’s Day. At every St. Joseph’s Table there is a beautiful altar off to the side, decorated with flowers (usually lilies), lemons, and a statue of St. Joseph holding the child Jesus. The tradition of this shared celebration is that no one is to be turned away from the table. Typically a large family affair back then, today restaurants and churches host community-wide events.

Sadly, last year the pandemic limited our St. Joseph’s Table to just two.
It’s estimated that 13 million pints of Guinness will be consumed globally on St. Patrick’s Day.

There was a time, especially in Ireland, when St. Patrick’s Day also had more serious religious overtones, but like so many holidays today, it has been captured by the commercial food and beverage industry. Irish pubs all over the US are jam-packed with Irish and non-Irish, Catholic and non-Catholic alike, enjoying the music and revelry now most associated with the day. On the other hand, I’ve found you have to do some searching to find someone in the US setting a St. Joseph’s Table outside of the Sicilian enclaves in large cities.

So I began to ponder two things: why are the holidays of these two patron saints celebrated so differently in the US? And how does one get to be a patron saint anyways?

According to catholic.org, patron saints are “special protectors or guardians over areas of life.” They are often associated in some way with a particular region, profession, or family. St. Patrick, for example, was actually born in Britain in the 4th century, kidnapped and brought to Ireland at age 16, escaped back to Britain, became a priest, and returned to Ireland to bring Christianity to the Irish. St. Joseph, on the other hand, husband of the Virgin Mary, never visited Sicily as far as we know. But during a severe drought in the Middle Ages, the people of Sicily prayed to the saint and their prayers were answered with rain. The crops were saved and a feast has been prepared each year by grateful Sicilians and their descendants.

Perhaps the days are different because so many myths and legends surround St. Patrick (like the one about him driving out the snakes), or because the Irish are born storytellers and embellishers (think pinching leprechauns and pots of gold). Perhaps the Sicilians are simply a more serious people (certainly they are when it comes to food). Or maybe the Irish and Sicilian immigrants who came to this country celebrate their patron saints in a way that is simply a reflection of the things they loved most about their homeland, and they honor their saints accordingly.  What do you think?

Irish pubs will feature traditional Irish songs and merry-making on March 17th.

Will you be celebrating one of these holidays? Does your family do something special on that day? I would love to hear your stories so leave me a comment below!

Our Year of Living Differently

Goodbye 2020! What lessons did I learn from you to determine how I will live in 2021?

Like everyone else on the planet, I am glad to see 2020 come to an end.

But I have to admit, this past year has changed my life, at least in some ways, for the better. And while I know and appreciate that people are chomping at the bit to get back to “normal” in 2021, it is slowly dawning on me that some things will never return to the way they were. Perhaps they shouldn’t.   

This New Year’s Eve, I am looking at the lessons I learned by living differently in 2020, to determine how I will live in 2021. Here are 10 new habits I developed that will not change in the coming year:

  1. Paying more attention to the people I love: At the beginning of the pandemic, I awoke each day dreading the news that a loved one was ill or dying. I began to check in on everyone I knew, even people I hadn’t heard from in years. Once I confirmed they were fine, we laughed and joked and traded stories. It didn’t take long to realize there was nothing more important to me than being able to talk to the ones I love. It took a pandemic for me to permanently rearrange my priorities.
Checking in with loved ones is now the most important part of my day.

2. Shopping less often: We used go to the grocery store once or twice a week, sometimes more. Starting in March, we cut it back to once a month. We found we could easily manage with a well-stocked pantry of canned and dry foods, supplemented with perishables that could be frozen. We started buying reusable, rather than single-use products. When anticipated food shortages never happened, we were grateful. I will never take farm workers, grocery store cashiers, or delivery people for granted again.

The water was cold but refreshing in the DIY truck bed swimming pool.

3. My perception of looking good. This has been the year of no bra, no makeup, no perfume, and no haircuts—a year of grooming liberation! I learned people want to see you looking healthy on Zoom, not made-up like a L’Oréal commercial. I will rely on moisturizers and brisk walks to give me a nice virtual glow.

4. Learning to make new things: Stuck at home, we experimented with new foods, recipes, and ingredients. We learned to make everything from apple cinnamon crepes to seven grain bread and pickled okra. We made our own mail box, compost bin, raised beds, and home gym, giving us a much needed sense of accomplishment. We are now devoted DIY’ers.

Now that I’ve learned to make crepes, they will make a regular appearance on the menu.

5. Limiting who gets in my personal space: I miss hugging and kissing loved ones, but I intend to be more selective about who gets to enter my physical comfort zone in the future. Why not greet others with a wave, bow, curtsy, or two-fingered peace sign, rather than a handshake?  

6. Recognizing health as a luxury: Every morning that I could get out of bed, take a deep breath and feel my own cool forehead, I said a prayer of thanks. As the number of people who contracted the virus climbed into the millions, I was grateful for my doctors who sent us thoughtful email updates on the virus and conducted telehealth visits, and for all the scientists, researchers, EMTs, and hospital workers on the front lines. I will never take health care professionals for granted again.

We made these raised beds out of old barn wood; repurposing is our new mantra.

7. Paying attention to where the money goes: We live on a yearly budget now, and I was pleasantly surprised to see how little we spent by not traveling, going to restaurants, shopping, and paying for gas. This left more money at the end of the year to donate to charity and give gifts to loved ones.  

Using an old wheelbarrow for a grill, we enjoyed Friday night tailgate parties for two at home.

8. Planning more travel by motorcycle, car or RV: It is much easier to control who you sit next to that way! For the foreseeable future, we plan to spend our vacations traveling close to home and getting to know our own town, region, and state better. Family visits are at the top of the list, once it is safe to do so.

9. Working more productively from home: Employers are rethinking their investment in office space, as are school administrators in classrooms. We’ve learned that Zoom meetings and webinars cut costs, eliminate travel time, and reduce carbon emissions, among other things. As an introvert, I’m in my element working from home, but I’ve also learned how important it is to structure your day, have a dedicated workspace, and be disciplined in your work habits.

I learned I needed a dedicated office space and a daily planning calendar to stay focused.

10. Being prepared for whatever comes next: After 9/11, government agencies recommended that every family have an emergency plan, and I was very glad we had one, even if it wasn’t tailored specifically for a pandemic. We all learned some things this year about what to have on hand before the panic-buying and hoarding starts. Growing up in Buffalo, we always had extra milk and toilet paper around should the blizzards be worse than usual, but flour, yeast, and Lysol wipes? Who would have thunk it?

Did you develop new habits in 2020? Will you do things differently this coming year? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Whatever your plans are for 2021, I wish you all the best for a safe, happy, and healthy New Year!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.