SUNDAY AT YIAYIA’S – A CHRISTMAS GIFT FROM OUR FAMILY TO YOURS

Most children think of their “Sunday clothes” as dressy and stylish.  We remember ours as durable and comfy.  Why?  Because after church (where we did have to succumb to wearing the more characteristic version of “Sunday Clothes”) our family and Aunt Kay’s family both headed to Yiayia’s, where we changed (as soon as we had shared a welcome hug and kiss with our Yiayia and Papou), into durable jeans (Did you call them “dungarees?” We did.) and a flannel shirt, sweatshirt, or some equally comfy top. 

Of course, we’re talking here about a big Greek family whose matriarch Yiayia (grandmother) and patriarch Papou (grandfather) were hard-working immigrants of humble but proud means.  They lived in a cottage with a front porch for sitting out on warm summer nights and for cooling pies after baking.  They walked to work at a shoe shop which was farther than what we would consider walking distance away, shopped for raw ingredients including what we would consider staples for a healthy Mediterranean diet, to prepare family meals which were likely simple on weeknights to allow for the more extravagant Sunday Greek dinner.  And what a Sunday dinner!  It was a feast of Avgolemono (egg and lemon) soup, golden roasted potatoes and carrots baked in the dripping from a well-seasoned leg of lamb,  Pastichio (layered pasta and savory ground meat topped with a béchamel sauce), and Spanacopeta made from homemade phyllo (which Yiayia rolled out on the small enamel kitchen table which also served as her only countertop). For dessert we saw lemon meringue pie (it greeted us upon our arrival as it cooled on the front porch) but often skipped it because we left and were half way to Puritan’s by the time dessert was served. (Puritan’s was a Five & Dime store featuring an ice cream/soda fountain which we later found out had been frequented in the 1930’s by the author of the Archie comic books!) 

Often, a stranger was sitting at our grandparents’ table at our Sunday meals.  When we asked, Yiayia, “Who’s that person?” Her response was, “There’s room for everyone but the devil.”  It was only later on that I learned that Yiayia’s generosity regularly extended to the community.  She provided the same quality and quantity of delicious Greek food that she prepared with love for family to friends, neighbors and church members who could use a warm, healthy meal.  Thinking of all the conveniences that we have and use in our kitchens, it’s hard to imagine how Yiayia consistently pulled off making complete, delicious meals in her simple kitchen. 

As he aged, Papou’s sight succumbed to diabetes and he went blind, yet he was always well-dressed and perfectly integrated into family life.  He would delight in his grandchildren, and even managed to reward a Greek song or verse by pulling from his pocket a dollar bill (distinguished from larger-denominated paper currency by Yiayia’s folding techniques). 

A cherished part of my Sunday at Yiayia’s was play with my cousin Diane, and after our delicious meal, off we’d go to the nearby riverbank, which would be considered off limits to unaccompanied adolescents by today’s standards.  Sometimes during school vacations we’d stay overnight, reveling in the accoutrements of the beloved cottage.  We loved climbing to the basement or the upstairs rooms on steep steps which felt more to us like a ladder than a staircase.  We marveled at Papou’s shaving materials including a pearl-handled straight razor, a wide leather strop, a white mug, and a fine-haired brush. We followed Yiayia around the kitchen as she cooked, using neither measuring nor mixing devices (hands were for tossing in a “handful” and tossing around ingredients).  We rolled on the hassock in the living room, peeked at the in-process jigsaw puzzle ever-present under the dining room tablecloth, and followed into the garden to watch Yiayia’s stiff-kneed posture as she gathered into her apron rhubarb for sheet cake or an herb or green for dinner.  Across the street was a hill meant for sledding in winter and climbing up and rolling down in milder weather.  Neighbors were friends, the nearby park and five-and-dime store were easy walks filled with adventure and treasured penny candy purchases.  After a day outside, we’d venture into the bathroom sporting a square, wooden commode 

with a chain-pull flusher, and a claw-foot tub ready to transform us from grimy and earthy to squeaky-clean and pajama-ready. We bounced and giggled on Yiayia’s feather bed, awaiting Yiayia’s warning to “go to sleep!”

Papou passed away when we were still kids.  Time passed and we stepped out of our dungarees into adult life.  Our closeness to Yiayia ended only in her death, when my cousin and I were in our late teens.  For years, as an adult living in a neighboring town, I found myself driving to the main street that overlooked Yiayia’s little cottage, and stopping to remember and relive those simple days and times.  Even today, my cousin Diane and I will share a recipe or a memory, always happy to have taken the time to reminisce.

The passage of time sweetens some memories, even injecting fantasy or whimsy into their importance.  But I stand firm in the fact that our Sundays at Yiayia’s were among the very best days of my childhood.  Diane and I reminisce that we can still see her standing in the kitchen between her wringer washer and her gas stove, her long grey hair pulled back in her trademark bun.  She, too, come to think of it, was wearing clothes she considered “durable and comfy…” a mid-calf length house dress with an apron tied around the waist, and those thick-heeled, sensible black “Yiayia shoes.” Her presence left an indelible mark on our family.  She stood for purpose, for faith, and most certainly of all, for love.  Unconditional, uncompromising, unashamed, Yiayia love.

I urge you to take some time today to think… Where was your Sunday family gathering?  Who impacted your life as our Yiayia did ours?  In what ways do you think you have been blessed by the willing, loving sacrifice of those who came before you?  It will be worth your while, I promise. 

My cousin and I have asked ourselves: Did our closeness for Yiayia end? 

Our conclusion: meals and visits with Yiayia ended with her passing, but our intimacy with her lives on and helps us to nurture the next generations of our family.

This Christmas season, we hope that the grace of a good memory or two will bring you, as it has us, the gift of two immutable truths.  First, we all knew a sweet time when family gatherings meant love. And second, with the passage of time and the onset of maturity comes the realization that love is not only important, but foundational.

Gandhi said “Where there is love, there is life.”  Yiayias’ (yours and ours) lives were well-lived and live on in each of us… because for our Yiayias, love was all that mattered.