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Of Christmases Past and the Eden is Francis and Denise Frangipane’s youngest child. There is something about the winter cold that has a way of slowing us down, giving us time to reflect upon life’s most important gifts. Eleven years ago today my family would have been welcoming relatives and guests into our home. Winter comes early in Iowa, and outside the snow would be spinning down, then resting in blankets across the frozen farmlands. I live in Tennessee now, but if I close my eyes, I'm almost back in Iowa, breathing in that Midwest winter air mixed with the scent of our spirited evergreens. On Christmas Eve our home would be filling up with scores of people. My parents would invite everyone from church who hadn’t family nearby to spend Christmas Eve with us. Each guest contributed to the growing mountain of food. There is something beautiful about big Italian-American families, something compelling about how they truly live the belief that the more people in the home, the better life is. If you aren't family, you soon become family, quickly drawn in to countless hours of laughing and eating, and then laughing and eating again. And again. By now, my grandparents would also have arrived from their ten-hour drive. My grandpa Frank always brought with him bags of M&Ms and pistachios, as well as a lottery ticket for each of us grandchildren. When I was young, I was a fan of anything Italian, probably because I was a bigger fan of my grandfather. Whatever he liked, I liked. He once bought me a Louis Prima album and told me in his thick New Jersey accent how necessary it was to listen to Big Band music. After he passed away I confessed a treasured secret to my brothers and sisters: Grandpa had told me privately that I was his favorite. Of course, as we talked we discovered that he told each of us the same thing! But that was who he was. You were the most important kid in the world when you were with my grandfather, and he would tell you just about anything to make you believe it. However, it’s my Grandma Angelina who may be the closest person to perfection that I know. The last time I saw her, I was told by her friend how wonderful my eighty-nine-year-old grandmother was. Her friend said, "In my whole life I've never met anyone else as kind as your grandmother." She leaned in a little closer and whispered, "And sometimes I can't help but wonder if she isn't really an angel." Old men would walk by her and wave; some would wink and smile. Others would come to kiss her on the cheek and tell her how beautiful she was. She has Alzheimer's now, but that doesn't stop her from treating everyone like she had known them her whole life. At my last visit she had to be reminded of who I was. She gently held my hands and kissed them, and with tears in her eyes, she said she couldn't believe she was looking at her granddaughter. She gracefully kept touching my face, and as the tears continued to roll down her cheek, she kept repeating how beautiful she thought I was, and how happy she was to see me. She would have treated a stranger just the same. I miss Christmas with my grandparents and the relatives I hardly get to see. I'm not much for cold winters, but I'd endure a hundred more just to relive those memories again. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ From our family to yours, we wish you a most blessed Christmas, full of love, family and friends. The Frangipane Family ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please feel free to forward this message to others; acknowledging our web site would be kindly appreciated. Reprint Agreement |