Day dreaming

This is the time of year when the elf production lines, food division would be hard at work in preparation of the great gather.

Grandmother, Mother, Aunts, and the remaining wanna-bees in training.

One home might be spinning up meatballs a plenty to make their way into Christmas Day lasagna while another worked magic of clam sauce for Christmas Eve dinner.

I remember my beginnings in forming the meatball, forking the edges of the ravioli, drying the pasta or any other support that was required. Powdering, icing or holding the iron for the cookie forming and cooking.

Lessons learned the hard way with making home made Giardiniera peppers, blisters, proper hygiene and the “burn” in unfamiliar places violating the word of recommendation.

The orange juice glass serving time for vino appreciation and measure while cannoli shell was created.

Mostly I remember the tick of the clock as we all awaited midnight before the first present could be opened.

The friendly competition of best cook, in category held highest the season of Christ.

Taking my grandmother to midnight mass when grandfather was no longer with us. Taking her to the grocery store in preparation of the holiday.

Helping my mom make an assortment of cookies to please the roman empire which forever killed my thought of store bought.

This is a special time for me, a time of equal joy and sadness for almost all are gone.

In today's world it takes nothing to lose one, many or all.

Now my impatience of the cook or bakers aide has been replaced with the knowing I was fortunate, blind to how much I would miss those busy arguing who made the best meatball.

Never a contest in anyones heart for we all knew grandmas was the one to beat but it never prevented us from being voice-truss in competition of play.

If only we aged backwards the world might be a different place.