...a jug of wine...

I was thinking the other day about this blog and the many references to the women in my family. I love them all and have learned so much from my mother, aunts, grandmother, sisters and cousins. I learned a few things from the men in my family, too. Hard work is one lesson. Family loyalty is another. Most of these lessons were learned around a table filled with food and smiling faces.

Almost 30 years ago I had the chance to sit my little boys at the kitchen table on Union Street and see them interact with an older generation. Even Aunt Mary was there, I have pictures, too. It is a wonderful memory and to this day they can remember the "mansion" in Brooklyn. It wasnt the only time they were there but one of only a very few since we lived here in central PA even then.

When you walked into the house on Union street there was a myriad of items always there. A small table with a mirror, a coat rack, a staircase with the best sliding banister ever, and a long narrow hallway leading to the heart of the house; the kitchen. In the kitchen, in a cabinet behind the table, there was a collection of libations. Normal stuff like scotch, rye, gin. But also dusty (really dusty) bottles of other things that were kept for who knows what reason since I dont think anyone ever drank a drop from them. But the strongest drink memory I have is of a jug, a gallon jug of wine sitting at my grandfathers feet as he presided over the holiday celebrations year after year.

My grandfather was a BIG man at one time. A REALLY BIG MAN, as in overweight to the extreme. Round and lumbering and strong. He was a longshoreman. In the winter his many layers of clothes were needed for warmth and that made him look even bigger. Sometime in his midlife he dropped perhaps a hundred pounds and kept it off for the rest of his life but the image of his larger self is burned in my memory. I always thought of him as a quiet man, too. Not shy or introverted, just not a big talker. He spoke when he needed to. He was a presence to be reckoned with at times, I am told, but to me he was more of a gentle giant. The giant who controlled the wine, among other things.

He sat at the head of the long table for every holiday. He carved the turkey very deliberately, ate with gusto and dolled out the wine. At times the drinks would go into the beautiful etched wine glasses but just as often into kitchen glasses or short juice glasses. We didn't get a choice of red or white wine. Just red. Burgundy I believe. Good red wine that you had to have poured by Grandpa and then passed hand over hand back to you. For most of my life I was too young to drink any of it but that was OK since Grandpa didn't drink any of it either. I never saw him drink anything other than coffee and iced water.

That was a very long time ago and now my father is the keeper of the wine at family celebrations. He sits at the head of the table too and has the wine close by. We usually have more than one choice of vintage now but it still is somewhat of a tradition to start with the grandfather offering the wine. It is nice that some things never change. So to all the Grandpas and Pop-Pops around; Salute!