Christmas Eve, 2009.

I fell out of bed around the time when the sun lazily peeks over the horizon as if to avoid the oncoming day. I had a bunch of late holiday chores to accomplish before it was all over for the zillionth time including my yearly where-the-hell-did-the-time-go routine. I stood up, groaned, stretched and stumbled to the shower. I turned the water on and waited the minute or two for the room to steam up before stepping into the tub.

There was a moment between stepping into the tub and sticking to the ceiling that I should have realized the room didn’t steam up therefore there was no hot water. As I swallowed my frozen chestnuts I began boiling water for the time-honored tradition of the sponge bath sans a squad of sexy nurses.

It was Christmas Eve and I needed to get a few more things for dinner. I was also due for a good dose of cheer and good will toward men. I felt a little better this year than last but there is still something about this time of year that leaves me yearning for something I can’t define. I took my shopping list, my camera and my bent for lonesome nostalgia and headed out into my Brooklyn.

I stopped at Ravioli Fair for a ring of cheese and parsley sausage and stepped into my grandmother’s Ghost of Christmas Kitchen Past. There was everything from rice balls to stuffed artichokes and a million other delights that made Christmas special all those years ago. I went in for sausage and came out 75 bucks lighter and with three shopping bags of food. Did I mention Trace was spending the entire day doing the feast of seven fishes and was at this moment, cooking her brains out over the stove?

I visited Maggio’s, the old music school I spent my youth in. As soon as I stepped into the store a slice of the traditional six foot mixed hero was thrust into my hands on a plate with potato salad and macaroni salad. I spent an hour taking bites and talking about the good old days, the characters that come through and the way things have changed. They went from a local music store that equipped every kid in the neighborhood with a guitar and the desire to be the next Van Halen to moving the whole thing largely to the internet because in this new Bensonhurst, there are no aspiring rock stars that play anything other than Rock Band.

I watched Big Angelo polish off the roast beef with extra mayo, complain in Italian about his diabetes and chug two canolis. Joe was salivating while trying to maintain composure. He was holding off because there was the feast of a thousand fishes waiting at home. Pale Eddie was busy helping a customer select a harmonica while trying not to make it obvious that was struggling with a mouthful of food. The Old Man and I spoke about my father, his father and business. He said people wondered why he didn’t retire to Florida. He said, “What am I gonna do in Florida, pull my prick until I die?” He had a point. He wondered where my hair went and said my new look was debonair. It wasn’t by choice.

We hugged, exchanged well wishes and I waved goodbye. I took a deep breath of cold December air tasting on it a little bit of everything; pizza from Pizza Den, cookies from West End bakery and coffee from the diner on the corner.

I took the New Blue Monster, ie the new leased CRV, around to my father’s block. I know I shouldn’t dwell on the past, that the best is supposedly yet to come, but I felt like painting a picture of the old block in my mind. I turned the corner and with my mind, saw all the old neighbors and friends on the block. I remembered the old light displays in the windows and the snow men here and there. The girls would come by and call for my sister and I was content to stay in and watch the specials on TV while dreaming of living in the Christmas tree. Don’t tell me you’ve never done that.

I paused in front of my father’s house and thought about that time we built a snow fort in the front that took up the entire front yard. Then there was the time that he, Trace and I went outside during a snow storm at 1am and built a snowman and brought a snowball fight into the house.

I don’t have to tell you that I still miss him.

Tonight there’d be dinner and family and a glowing tree. Outside there’d be snow and ice and a cold crisp night. There would still be no hot water but that’s what the stove is for. I’ll stand out on the balcony and look up at the stars imagining there really is a man named Kringle who exists purely to bring joy to the world. That there is a flying sleigh and a place hidden way up north where all they do is make toys and dance and sing. That one day there will be on earth peace, and good will toward men.

You can call that sappy, and maybe it is. Probably because I showered with my chestnuts in my throat this morning and I’m still waiting to roast them on an open fire just to defrost them...

I hope you’re with someone you love, and more importantly, someone who loves you. Be of good cheer. Believe in magic. Look at the world with the wonder of a child, even if only for one night. And don’t forget to set out milk and cookies….

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you from me….