Family

And there were shepherds keeping warm at night

A few weeks ago I was looking through some Christmas pictures that my sister emailed to me. There were a bunch of cute ones of Caroline and her cousin Sarah and then I saw something that left me puzzled.

My sister and I don’t talk about everything, but I couldn’t believe she didn’t mention that she and her husband played the role of shepherds in some kind of Christmas pageant.

But, oh no.

On closer inspection I realized those aren’t shepherds robes. Those are Snuggies.

I called her and asked, “What is up with the Snuggies? It’s like I don’t even know you.”

She explained that they got them for Christmas as a practical joke, but I told her that doesn’t explain why they were actually wearing them. And posing for pictures. And confessing that they’ve continued to wear them long after the joke is over.

I can’t even talk about the part where she told me how much they were enjoying the two free booklights they received with Snuggie purchase.

Some family skeletons need to stay in the closet.

Next to the stack of ShamWows.
Back in the days of the cigar-smoking grandpas

When I was at my Nanny’s house last summer, I found this old picture in one of her many photo albums. She has a million albums filled with all kinds of pictures of my childhood, but this one is such a piece of life as I remember it back then.

My Papa is the cigar-smoking barbecue chef in the picture. I can’t remember if that was a gas grill or not, but clearly safety and proper hygienic food preparations weren’t on the top of the priority list.

In the background is my Big Bob wearing his trademark gold jumpsuit with a pipe in his mouth, and sitting on the table is my great Uncle Bo who was the skinniest person I have ever met. He was also a Cajun who married into our Italian family and made the best gumbo in the world.

All three of them are gone now. They’ve been gone for a long time.

It’s funny how you can miss something that you didn’t even pay much attention to in the moment it existed. The three of them were just always there, presiding over the barbecue pit while the women stayed in the house and gossiped.

I don’t know when Papa built that little barbecue Taj Mahal, but I can’t remember a time that it wasn’t in his backyard. Every now and then he would update it with some new Astroturf on the floor or bring in an additional table, but it remained virtually the same until the day he passed away.

I’m not sure what he was cooking that day, but if I had to guess I would say links of sausage and burgers that were always well done. We ate so much spaghetti at Mema and Papa’s house that it always seemed exotic to have something different.

I loved those Saturday afternoons when the men would gather around the barbecue stand. The backyard was huge and my cousins and I would play baseball with my daddy and my uncles until the food was ready and Mema called us all to come in the house.

We’d gather in their huge kitchen, all sweaty and starving, and fix huge plates of food. It was always so loud that you couldn’t hear yourself think. A football game would blare out from the television and everyone would holler back and forth from the kitchen to the living room with a joke or making fun of how much someone put on their plates. I can’t think of a time I didn’t see my Uncle Carroll look at someone’s plate and say “DERN, that is impressive.”

It’s an expression we still use today because it is perfection.

After lunch everyone would find a place on one of Mema’s vinyl couches or on the floor to stretch out and watch football. I remember climbing all over my twin uncles as they lay on the floor because I was hoping to annoy them enough to go back outside and play more baseball. Eventually they would cave and we’d all head back outside until it was time for everyone to go home.

Last summer when I was in Beaumont, I drove to the other side of town to see Mema and Papa’s old house. Time hasn’t been kind to their neighborhood, but the house still looked just as I remember it.

I drove by slowly to take in the huge backyard that is the site of so many childhood memories and pulled into the driveway next to the side door where everyone entered their house. The memories haven’t dulled with time and I could almost see my Mema standing in the driveway blowing kisses and directing traffic as I pulled back out onto the main road.

As I drove away, I felt an ache like homesickness down in my stomach. A longing for a place that only exists in bits and pieces of my memory. A place and time that is gone forever.

But I will be forever grateful for that time, that place, those people. They shaped who I am. They taught me the value of spending time with family, laughter, football, and taking the time to grill some sausage while smoking a cigar.

And, ultimately, those are the things you remember. Even thirty years later.
We felt connected

Before I even begin to attempt to sum up our Christmas in a concise, interesting way (like that will happen) that won’t cause this post to become the reason you were finally able to throw out the Ambien, I feel that I need to let you know that the picture of Caroline in the Merry Christmas post was the picture taken by AJ that we sent out on our Christmas cards.

I would never be so cruel as to subject my poor child to wearing all manner of winter fashion festiveness on a Christmas day where the temperature reached 80 degrees.

Although I’ll admit I was tempted.

And if she’d had her way, she’d have shown up at my mother-in-law’s house wearing a navy sundress from Gap that’s about two sizes too small, which is really irrelevant because IT’S A SUNDRESS and it’s Christmas day.

I only had to say that fifty-nine different times on Christmas morning.

Anyway, we started our Christmas festivities by attending church on Christmas Eve. Caroline has been looking forward to her opportunity to hold her very own candle since last Christmas and I drank enough wine before the service to ensure I wouldn’t be too nervous about it. You all know I’m kidding. There isn’t enough wine to make you feel good about your five-year-old holding a candle.

After the service, we went to Mimi and Bops’ house to have our Christmas celebration with them.

This is Caroline with her cousin Sarah. My sister and I both have one daughter so we have a master plan to make them dress alike for the next 4-5 years. It was what our mother did to us and there is no reason why they should be spared just because they don’t have a sibling.

This is what Caroline had waiting for her over there.

To say she was thrilled is an understatement. I knew that’s what she was getting and when we were in Bryan last week, I told Nena that Caroline was getting a pink Barbie Mustang and Nena said, “Honey, listen, who wouldn’t want a pink car?”

I believe the entire Mary Kay sales force has proved that point.

My sister and her husband bought Caroline the board game “Sorry” at my suggestion. It was one of my favorite games when I was little and I just knew Caroline would love it. And I was right; she does love it. However, I now know that the reason it’s called “Sorry” is because whoever invented it was “Sorry” that they had to play it with a five-year-old who likes to make up her own rules as the game goes on.

Later on, we finally managed to get her out of the car with the time-honored threat of Santa passing us by because she wasn’t asleep. When she got home, I let her open her new Christmas pajamas, courtesy of my mom.

The next morning, P and I were awakened with the news that she’d heard the dogs barking at Santa in the middle of the night and could we please GET UP RIGHT NOW.

She was thrilled to see that Santa brought the roller skates she wanted along with the Barbie Diamond Castle, Diamond Castle Barbie, and Diamond Ken, who we like to call Elvis, although judging by the sparkles on his jacket, Liberace might be the better moniker.

When you squeeze Barbie’s hand, she sings some song about how she feels connected and I’m not exactly sure what she feels connected to, but it’s a sure bet it’s not this metrosexual Diamond Castle Ken.

Although I did catch him doing some push-ups on the living room floor.

Santa also brought some incredibly cheap makeup that he found at Walmart and I got quite the Christmas morning makeover.

I haven’t worn that much blue glitter eye makeup since my 9th grade Homecoming dance when I hoped to channel Madonna.

After spending the rest of the morning playing Jenga (HELLO, new obsession), and attempting to permanently sever P’s toes with Caroline’s new roller skates, we headed over to my mother-in-law’s house for Christmas lunch.

Not in a navy sundress.

We ate way too much turkey and dressing, brought home leftovers while vowing we’d never manage to eat them all, and continued to eat ourselves into a stupor over the next few days.

And I can’t even discuss the mass consumption of sugar cookies. It just makes me feel shameful.

Especially when I see Ken/Elvis mocking me with his commitment to physical fitness even during the holiday season.

Hope y’alls was merry.
Like the Sopranos, but without the violence

One of my favorite things as a mama is sharing things that I remember from my childhood with Caroline. I love experiencing it all over again through her eyes, whether it’s reading We Help Mommy (which I knew word for word when I was little) or taking her to the zoo, it just makes me so happy to share these moments with her.

This past weekend, we loaded up for a road trip to Beaumont to see relatives that I haven’t seen in years. My dad was born and raised in Beaumont and since his mama was one of eight children, we have all kinds of family there. Some of my favorite memories are from the huge get togethers that we would attend. About once a year they’d get the whole family together for a big family gathering that was always held at either the local Knights of Columbus Hall, the fellowship hall at Assumption Catholic Church, or at my Mema’s house.

Just stop and think of any stereotype of a large Italian family gathering and y’all will pretty much have the right picture in your mind. Well, except that nobody was putting hits out on anyone (at least not that I know of) and there wasn’t necessarily a Godfather. At any given time the room was filled with enough polyester, Aquanet and faux leather from their SAS shoes, that if someone had lit a match the whole place would have gone up in flames.

There was always more food than anyone could possibly eat. Tables were heavy with trays of lasagna, spaghetti and always some fried chicken which I guess was the Southeast Texas influence. The music was loud and the family was louder. They’d all be telling jokes at the same time and telling old stories that would make better novels than anything on the market. There would be hugging, kissing and lots of face pinching.

I remember one family reunion that got so rowdy that two kegs were floated and my great Aunt Laura danced so much that they had to call an ambulance to come get her. Turns out that she was okay, just a little out of breath.

I have always loved that I come from this huge, crazy Italian family because it’s a unique experience. Not too many other people I know had turkey and spaghetti for Christmas dinner.

There aren’t too many of these relatives left anymore. I mean, yes, there are younger cousins, aunts, and uncles, but most of the original crew has gone on to the big Knights of Columbus Hall in the sky.

This weekend, everyone got together for a big reunion in Beaumont. It was smaller than the ones I remembered, but the food, the laughter, the loudness, and the kisses were the same and Caroline got to experience it for herself.

My Mema passed away 5 years ago and she has two siblings that are still living. The first is my great Aunt Fina (short for Josephine). Aunt Fina is one of the more unique people you will ever meet. She has always kept her hair dyed jet black and wears more makeup at one time than most people even own. She is a huge fan of anything polyester and she and my great Uncle Joe drive across the Louisiana border to gamble at the casinos about twice a week. She has never and I will repeat NEVER (because y’all aren’t going to believe this) been to any kind of doctor EVER in her whole life. Not a dentist, not a general practitioner, not a chiropractor. She is in her 80’s and has NEVER been to a doctor. But amazingly this fact isn’t what makes Aunt Fina so peculiar. The most amazing thing about Aunt Fina is that she ends EVERY word with a T. And, y’all are thinking what? Is that even possible?

Yes, yes it is.

When she saw me on Saturday, this is what she said, “Oht yourt sot prettyt, andt lookt at thet babyt, she’st sot beautifult”. And the best is if you can get her to say “shrimp” because she pronounces it “strimpt”. I don’t know why she does this or how one even begins to learn this sort of diction, but she has done it my entire life and it is truly amazing. Truly.

So, here is a picture of Aunt FinaT. And by the way, none of the following pictures have been doctored or photoshopped in any way. These are real relatives.

She has looked exactly like that for as long as I can remember. HonestlyT.

My Mema’s other surviving sibling is her youngest brother Paul. Uncle Paul is famous in Beaumont because for years he used to dance to “Don’t Mess with My Toot-Toot” on top of the home dugout during the 7th inning at all the Golden Gators baseball games. Everyone called him the “toot-toot” man and the highlight of many a family reunion was watching Uncle Paul do his dance for the family. Here’s Uncle Paul. He really is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet.

Here’s another picture of someone that I can’t explain, but will show the picture to prove that I am not kidding about the polyester or the Italian stereotype. This is a real person, not someone from the Sopranos and why yes, those are gold rimmed tinted glasses he’s wearing.

The best thing was that Caroline enjoyed every minute of it. She loved all the commotion, the noise, the candy and the attention. We took so many pictures that by the end of it she said “Why don’t you just take a picture of yourself?” But I wanted to get it all on film because I know the chances of everyone getting together again are probably slim. As my great Aunt Sarah, who is 96 said, “Honey, we need to do this more often because some of these people are getting old.” Here’s Aunt Sarah.

**This post was originally published in October of 2006**
Beauty secrets

I kind of got the impression from the 100+ comments on my post about my Nanny’s birthday party, that y’all are interested in two critical pieces of information.

1. What is Nanny’s skincare regimen and has she made some sort of lucrative deal with God? And if so, how can you get in on that action?

2. What does that cat eat and does it include a growth hormone cocktail?

I can’t help y’all with the cat. It’s a Persian and it consists primarily of fur. If I had to guess, I’d say that if you shaved it bald it would look like a ferret.

It would also quit hacking up hairballs.

But Nanny read all your comments and has agreed to share her skincare secrets. However, I feel compelled to let you know that you can rest assured she has withheld some piece of information in here somewhere because she never gives away all her secrets.

It’s like the recipes for her cinnamon cake or her fudge. I can come close to duplicating them, but something is still missing.

This is the email that Nanny sent me (cut and pasted word for word):

“My complexion care began at an early age – like when I was about 13. We didn’t have clothes dryers back in those days so we had miles of clothes lines where we hung the wash out to dry. Maybe it had something to do with my growing taller, but it became my turn to hang the laundry out to dry.

Now, the wash consisted of tons clothes and sheets (so many that I still have nightmares about them). I feel certain that is why I hate Mondays to this day. Everyone knew that Mondays were ‘wash day’.

I say that to say this: My Mama who had the most beautiful skin in Texas allowed absolutely no sun to come in contact with her baby’s precious skin—-ever! Bonnets were worn from birth forward. Matter of fact, all girl babies were probably born wearing them.

However, she did try to train me in the sharing of chores with my siblings. So, there I went with a basket of freshly washed clothes and sheets. I had to wear a big bonnet with ‘slate’ that extended at least 12 inches out from my face. Not one ray of sunshine was permitted on my face.

Beyond the bonnet, I was required to wear long stockings pulled up on my arms all the way to my shoulders. These ‘arm’ stockings were pinned to my blouse along the shoulder seams.

My skin never had a freckle – much less a tan. I never learned to swim – same reason, no sun! To this day I am terribly afraid of the water. However, I called my daughters bluff by ‘teaching’ them both how to swim just by coaching from the sidelines.

But, that is another story, and I won’t digress further – as my granddaughter, Big Mama, tends to do.

As I mentioned before, my Mother had gorgeous skin so she taught me proper skincare. No soap (too drying) – I think Witch Hazel (an herb or shrub of some sort I think) ointment cleaned and was a good night cream. No moisturizer, just powder when I was a teenager.

Later she introduced me to Ponds cream. Yes, it has been around a long time, and it is still good.

By the time I was a senior in high school, a line of makeup came out called Luziers. I had everything a girl at that time could ever want in order to look good and take care of her skin. I used it for years while my girls were growing up.

Whenever I was running late, and friends would ask where I was, Big Bob got a kick out of saying, “Oh, she’s still home sitting in front of the mirror fighting with ‘them’ Luziers.” He could be such a smart aleck sometimes!

Sometime during the late 50’s or early ’60’s, someone introduced me to Avon products. It was nice to have sales and delivery right to to your home.

Through the years, I have tried various brands of this and that. Currently, I am using Abolene cleansing cream, Oil of Olay intensive night cream ($9 at Walgreens), sometimes EB5 as advertised by Penneys, Loreal foundation.

The one big extravagance that I adopted thirty years ago is Alexandra de Markoff daytime moisturizer. It is expensive but one bottle lasts forever and is worth its weight in gold.

If I stay in a dry climate for 3-4 weeks, I come home and keep my skin covered in Vaseline as much as possible. A little uncomfortable – but again, it can work magic.”

Can I just laugh about her reference to staying in a “dry climate”? She lives in Beaumont, TX. Everywhere else in the world is considered a “dry climate” compared to Beaumont, including Houston.

I can attest to the generous use of Abolene cleansing cream. It is one of the smells of my childhood. Any night I spent with Nanny ended with us watching Johnny Carson while she coated her face with Abolene and then wiped it off with a soft cloth.

She was also a pioneer of a product that’s now called Frownies, although I believe in those days they were called Wings.

Or maybe I just called them Wings because when I tried just now to Google “Wings” all that came up was a list of feminine products.

I never understood why someone would sleep with something pasted on their forehead, but now that I wake up with eight different creases in my forehead every morning, it seems a perfectly logical thing to do.

So there you have it. How to look fab at 90.

Of course I’ll also need a time machine to erase all the summers I spent baking in the sun.

There are some things that even Abolene can’t wash away.
And then there was a party

I can always tell when we’ve arrived in Beaumont because, in spite of being in the car, you can feel the humidity rising to levels that will destroy your hair no matter how much Super-Hold Aquanet you’ve applied.

And I know this for a fact because I singlehandedly used enough Super-Hold Aquanet throughout high school to ensure that there was a big hole in the ozone layer right over Southeast Texas, and it still wasn’t enough to help my spiral permed curls defy gravity.

We went straight to Nanny’s house and arrived just as the party started. Caroline informed that she was going to be a “little bit shy” and it actually took her all of thirty seconds to come out of her shell.

However, it only took her eighteen seconds to find the electric organ in the back room.

If I had a nickel for every time I played “Little Brown Jug” on that organ while my sister provided sound effects by hiccuping in the background, well, I would have a lot of nickels. I can offer no explanation as to why my sister and I were so fascinated by a song about a drunk hillbilly.

This party was the first time the entire family has been together in over ten years, so we spent a lot of time catching up with everyone and laughing at old memories. Apparently, this past Christmas Nanny announced at lunch that no one else in the family would live as long as she has because they’re all too soft.

It was just like a moment from one of those sappy Lifetime channel holiday movies.

Here’s Nanny blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. Please note we did not have 90 candles because a house fire would have been tragic since there wasn’t anyone there strong enough to carry out the electric organ.

Also note that half the cake has already been eaten. We take our cake seriously.

Later on that evening, the whole family went out to eat at Casa Ole’. Even though I live in the birthplace of great Mexican food (Well, kind of. I guess technically Mexico is the birthplace of great Mexican food.) there is still something about that Dinner El Paso coming out fresh from the microwave that makes me happy.

I have no explanation for this and I should be embarrassed to admit it, but it’s who I am and I’ll own it. I sometimes enjoy fake Mexican food.

Caroline wanted to sit right next to the birthday girl at dinner because she has an innate ability to sniff out where the action will happen. Sure enough, the waitstaff brought Nanny a dessert while singing “Happy Chimichanga to You”.

Truly, one of the most underrated birthday songs in history.

That’s my child trying to steal a dessert from her great-grandmother. She has no shame.

The next day, Amy and I decided to take the girls to the mall with hopes of providing some type of air-conditioned entertainment. Naturally, Sarah had to bring “tato head” as part of her entourage.

Who knew the mall would be such a hotspot for toddler entertainment? The girls were able to take forty second ride on a mechanical school bus that only cost Amy and me $4.25 in lost quarters before we found a bus that actually worked.

Then, as we made our way down the mall, I saw something way off in the distance that frightened me. I saw children bouncing way up in the air while attached to some sort of harness. Discreetly, I whispered to Amy, “I think we should turn around before Caroline sees this.”

But it was too late. She had spied it with her little eye and was off and running towards all the bouncing. It turns out that there is bungee bouncing in the mall. In Beaumont, Texas. Who knew?

All we have at our mall here is a lame playscape with some hollowed out trees to provide minutes of imaginary play.

The girls were so tired after our big mall adventure that they fell asleep on the way home. Perfection.

We finally arrived back at Nanny’s house where Caroline spent the rest of the afternoon carrying around Nanny’s poor cat.

Between the cat and the electric organ, it was an abundance of riches.

A good time was had by all (well except for maybe the cat) and on Saturday night I sat around with my mom, my Nanny, and my sister while we watched the Miss Universe pageant. It felt like I’d stepped back in time about thirty years.

Except this time the stubborn little girl who refused to go to bed for fear of missing all the fun wasn’t me, but my daughter.

Later that night, I curled up in bed with her, the same bed where I’ve slept since childhood, the bed where I spent so many Christmas Eves’ listening for Santa Claus, where I stayed up reading way too late because Nanny would let me, where I cried over more than one bad breakup with a boyfriend, and I was filled with gratitude for that moment.

The blessing of watching life come full circle.

Before we left the next day, Nanny told us that she was going to have to get her handicapped sticker renewed for her car. She hadn’t realized it expired until my aunt pointed it out, because when she got it a few years ago they told her it was good for life.

My aunt said, “They probably didn’t think you’d live this long”.

And Nanny replied, “I guess I showed them”.

I’m so glad she did.