A Christmas Memory - Part 2

I am one of the lucky ones. We are out there whether you believe it or not. My Dad was raised German Lutheran, my mother, Russian Orthodox. Because of the difference in two calendars, Gregorian versus Julian, I was blessed with celebrating Christmas (and Easter) twice. I tried to get my birthday thrown in but that, I was told, was pushing it.

Christmas would be celebrated on the 25th of Dec and again on January 7th. I know what you’re thinking. Wow! Double the presents. Nope, try again. Half on the 25th and half on the 7th. My parents didn’t just fall off of the turnip truck you know. My Dad would do things like give me a battery operated toy on the 25th and the batteries on the 7th, or vice versa. Nothing more amusing than watching a 10 year old opening a pack of Eveready D cells and not have anything to put them in. And my kids wonder where I get it from, sigh. But that’s not the focus of this little missive. No, I want to tell you about Christmas Eve, January 6th.

For the Russians and other Eastern Orthodox religions this is the truly important part of the holiday. It is a fast day. No meat or dairy products. When my sister and I would come home from school our parents would load us into the car and drive to my grandparents house, Nikolai and Karolka (Caroline) Pechota. There we would have the traditional Christmas Eve supper. There was straw spread on the floor of my grandmother’s kitchen to represent the manger and my grandmother had spent all day preparing a meal made entirely without meat and dairy products. The table was always set with one extra place for the stranger that would knock at the door during the meal. You were truly blessed if this occurred for it was taken as a sign that Jesus had joined your meal. There were thirteen separate dishes, one for each disciple and one for Jesus. The kitchen table was set very plainly and the only spice was salt. This was served in an open bowl and you used a pinch taken with your fingers to season anything on your plate. The room was candlelit and once everyone had seated themselves at the table, and grace had been said by my grandfather, my grandmother would get up and begin to serve the meal. It was served as 13 separate courses. Only my grandmother was allowed to leave the table to serve the meal. The first was garlic, a raw clove of garlic, (yummmm) followed quickly by a slice of homemade Russian rye bread and honey. The following eleven courses consisted of things such as barley, wild mushrooms, three kinds of beans,peas, homemade pirohi (perogies), stewed prunes, fish fried in oil, and sauerkraut. There was so much starch that Dr Atkins would have fainted at the sight. Several times during the meal my grandfather would raise his glass and propose a toast. “Drink to the Kapusta!” (Kapusta was cabbage) At the end of the meal my grandfather would take the heal of the rye bread and snuff out the candle in the middle of the table. If the smoke rose straight up, it meant that the upcoming year would be a good one.(The cabbage would grow well). If it went to the side, it would be a bad year. A number of years later after my grandfather had passed away this honor fell to me.

Sure I got presents but I don’t really remember them and I really don’t care about them now. What I do remember is the meal, no not really the meal, what I remember are my grandparents and the reverence, respect and ceremony of the Christmas Eve supper. For a number of years after my grandparents passed we kept up the tradition. But as time moved on and our family scattered, it became more and more difficult to get together for this celebration.

And it was a celebration. It was a celebration of the upcoming birthday of Jesus; A celebration of the year past; and a celebration of the year to come. It was a celebration of Life.

Happy Holidays to all.

Remember, make a toast to the Kapusta.

Be thankful for all that you have.

Look forward to the upcoming year and the wonders it holds with boundless joy and enthusiasm.