While waiting in line to buy the groceries for the Christmas Day meal we would prepare for the friends we had coming over, I instructed my husband to run 3 aisles down and grab a box of After Eight mints from the endcap.
“Why do you want these?” he asked.
Why? Because for almost 20 years, my parents hosted an open house on Christmas Eve. We would go to 4pm Mass, then come home and receive guests until after midnight, with my Mother and Father hosting all of their friends and family. My Uncle Jack would bring his mystery gift – he had an ongoing bet with his sisters, my Mom and Aunt, that if they guessed what the gift was based on a riddle he would write about it, he would pay their mortgage for a year. We kids, the cousins (9 total) would pour over the riddle to try to guess what it was. No one ever did guess in all the years this contest continued.
My parents’ friends, people we would see only on this night, or monthly, or weekly, were an exciting and eclectic group of co-workers, childhood friends, bandmates, actual family, chosen family, and neighbors. There were years when my Dad brewed homemade beer or there was a specialty cocktail that one guest brought a carafe of. My Mom would spend most of the days leading-up to Christmas Eve making cranberry tartlets, fudge, cookies, meatballs, mini kielbasa cooked in beer, cranberry orange bread, and other delights, and I would always help out in these preparations. This is likely where and why my love of hosting parties started. She had a Christmas tablecloth that we only saw on these two days of the year, and crystal and china that were only used for holidays. I see now the hard work and preparation that all of this took, but also the joy and laughter that these gatherings inspired. We had singing, laughter, and saucy jokes. Of course, as kids, we really only saw the gifts that the guests would bring us (we got to open them immediately!!!) and how the glass of yellow liquid (dubbed “Barbara Giggle Juice”) would make our family friend rosy and giggly, and that a cacophony of singing voices, laughter, conversation, and smiles made our home the most exciting place to be. I remember many a Christmas Eve when I fought to stay up and not be put to bed because I didn’t want to leave that all downstairs, even with the promise of Santa’s gifts in the morning.
One staple at this Open House: After Eight Mints. While certain candies or sweets were kept on the counter in jars year-round for my Dad, or for visitors, these thin, minty, creamy, wafer-thin delights in their own individual envelopes only appeared on this one night. A fancy treat. An indulgence.
So when I saw them 3 aisles over, I knew they were just the thing to have when friends were coming over to fill our home with laughter and love.
The tablecloth was still on the table in the wee hours of the morning when we would stomp down the stairs trying to wake our parents so we could all open presents. What little bastards we were, in hindsight. They were probably hungover and had only gotten to bed a few hours before. Ah youth!
What makes you feel nostalgic?
Small Stuff 