Queens Still Life

It's always an interesting experiment to attend an event with people you don't know. We wound our way to Queens last night for a traditional Polish Wigilia celebration with the Aunts and their extended family. By this, I mean Aunt Bert's in-laws by her late husband, Uncle Stanley (God rest his soul). They live on the same street, three houses down the road. I knew about them but had never met them. They were hosting Wigilia this year and kindly invited us. We made our way down the road and arrived at their home. Upon entry, we came upon their doormat. This set the stage.

The curiously endearing thing about Queens are the neighborhoods. The neighborhood where the Aunts live is decidedly split between a Polish and Irish population. Its residents have lived there for multiple generations. The house that Aunt Bert lives in was built by Uncle Stanley in the 1940s after they were married. The house that the in-laws live in was the house Uncle Stanley's father built in 1920. Aunt Evelyn was born in that house in 1923 and she lives in it still. People stay in their neighborhoods all their lives. This kind of dormancy holds an incredible fascination for me--I can't stay in any one place for more than a few years.

The house that Aunt Evelyn lives in is true to the character of the neighborhood. It's built of sturdy brick and divided into multiple habitation units. She has a small living room, a dining room stuffed with Polish paraphernalia, a large kitchen, a serviceable bathroom and a bedroom. She set the table most prettily for Wigilia.

The food came out quickly. There was three kinds of pierogi sauteed with onion. There was shrimp and herring and flounder. There were latkes and vegetables and mushrooms and salad. There was a fantastic coleslaw that was the best I'd ever tasted. I had to ask Janie (Evelyn's daughter) what made it so good. "Pineapple juice and Miracle Whip," she said. A trade secret revealed, I had seconds. For dessert, we had a buche de noel. Italian pastries, chrusciki and babka. And very strong espresso. Janie's husband is Italian.

After the meal ended and the visitors were packed off in their cars, I urged Fang out for a walk. Aunt Bert's apartment was a toasty 90 degrees and I desperately needed some air. At 10 pm, we took a slow and silent constitutional along the snow rimmed sidewalk. There was no one on the streets. The air was still. It was silent.

The one thing I've always found about these tidy Queens neighborhoods and their brick facades and chain link fenced yards is the show of pageantry at Christmas. Copious lights and tinsel abound. There are nativity scenes and plastic snowmen and all sorts of Christmas paraphernalia. I always like walking around this area at night to admire the handiwork. This year marked a decided absence of the usual glitz. A lone lit snowman flanked a small yard shrine to the Madonna. A Santa with reindeers stood aloft over a roof. Some blinking lights and tin soldiers. Yet compared to previous years, it seemed as somber as the trying times itself. The fear people are feeling in these economic times seemed reflected in the darkened and silent yards.

Let's hope for renewed brightness in the year ahead.