The Last Noel

I’m here thinking of Christmases I can’t help but to remember, like war wounds, when it rains.

Before I turn them into sci-fi, let me say, my mother loved the holidays.  She was Mrs. Claus, with a spaghetti strainer in one hand, and a cocktail shaker in the other.

We did have a Norman Rockwell type Christmas, if Norman had a stroke that is.

One was when my father’s Pall Mall, accidentally set the tree on fire, putting it out with a 6 pack of Bud.  Even though the tree was saved, my mother still wasn’t too thrilled since, one of her Santa ornaments was now in blackface.

Then there was the time, Dad, thinking he was doing something heroic, brought home an artificial one from Caldors, my mother threw on the front lawn.


Well, let’s just say, he was crazy after that.

Mustn’t forget the time Fluffy the cat was missing. We found her at the bottom of the box my mother’s new Electrolux came in, passed out, like she had had too much to drink…which could very well have been the case, since there were many opportunities, and Fluff, wasn’t my mother’s cat for nothing.

The first and last boy I ever brought home, had a ringside seat to my parents fighting across the dinner table.  It was, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, with an open bar.  As I recall, the roast ended up on the floor, my grandfather wiping it off with a dishtowel before placing it back on its platter.

Back then we had a stereo the size of Michigan my mother played her Mitch Miller Sing-Along Holiday album on…over and over and over again.

One year, it went missing…uh-oh…Ma, put that knife down.

We all knew where Mitch was…in the trunk of my father’s Chevy Impala, but moms, I mean, mums was the word since, if those fucking sleigh bells went a ringling, ting-ting-tingling one more time, straight jackets, instead of blazers, would have been in order.

I’ll end with the time my mother made me a centerfold at 3, insisting I pose, naked, in front of the tree, with a little hankie in front of my private parts that were barely out of the box, as it were.

But modesty, bless her little butt, still reported for duty.

Even my father paled when asked to take the famous photo.

I was in tears. “NO NO, MOMMY, NOT IN FRONT’A DADDY.”

We then went to the kitchen table over hot chocolate, to negotiate.  If I said yes to this humiliating experience, I could wear my new Dr. Denton pajamas with the dropped seat before Christmas.

Hmm, even then I was a fashionista, loving them since, you could pee, without taking off your pants.

They were ghetto pants, before ghetto pants.

I was cute at 3, not yet putting on the 40 pounds that would make me resemble a cookie jar, and that famous picture, which could have gotten my parents 5 to 10, was lost long ago.

It was always a worry, if I ever became famous, it would end up on Hard Copy.

Oh well, to quote Nora Ephron’s mother who was also crazy…’it’s all copy.’ 

Merry Christmas everyone.






About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Thanks.
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20 Responses to The Last Noel

  1. I love your descriptions of your mother. Her image becomes so vivid in my mind. I’ve never known anything quite like her but I can see the chaos of a holiday play out. Great writing! (Poor Fluffy!)

    Liked by 1 person

    • Fluffy was very magnanimous, and a survivor. There was the other incident while shopping, unbeknownst to my mother, who had had a few cocktails, was napping in her Bean Boat n Tote, jumping out, scaring the hell out of the elderly sales lady who mistook her for a rodent. My mother, incensed, immediately said, she was half Persian and half Himalayan and perhaps she should have her eyes checked. My mother loved telling that story. Poor Fluff. No wonder she drank. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Kate Howell says:

    Great tales from xmas! Merry Christmas !🎄 Hal

    Hal Rubenstein from my iPhone


    Liked by 1 person

  3. Gail Kaufman says:

    You’re right. In today’s climate, the Department of Children and Families would have been knocking on your door for sure.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. No one’s stories compare to yours! I hope you have a very peaceful Christmas — repeat, very peaceful! Merry Christmas!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. skinnyuz2b says:

    What a great way to wake up this morning, Susannah. I love your stories.
    I’ve been sitting here sipping my Café Vienna for the past two hours, waiting for the sleepy heads to get up. Three of my four children and their significant others spent the night, The fourth left, but will return around noon.
    Merry Christmas to you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I can’t believe you have four children since you have the body of a Rose Bowl Queen.

      Liked by 1 person

      • skinnyuz2b says:

        I only had one biological child, Michael John, ten days before my 36th birthday. The other three were adopted from Russia. Kristina at age 6 yr back in 1993, and siblings Marissa Elena (6 yr)and Troy Evgeny (8 1/2 yr) in 1996. We kept the sibling’s Russian names as their middle names. We were going to use Mason (a family name) as Kristina’s first name, but on the way over we said, “She is all alone, leaving everything she knows. How can we take away the one thing she has left, her name.”

        Liked by 1 person

      • Awe…I love that story Skinny. How sensitive you were, and still are…:)


  6. I do like a little spice in my Christmas such as a roast on the floor or in our case a dog that stole the roast, or the Christmas album being played until someone snaps. I was laughing out loud at the album being in the trunk of the car … hahaha!
    Thanks for sharing your memories, you wouldn’t be who you are without them.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I think we all have something similar to your experiences in our lives, though most of us are scared to write them down, let alone publish them on a blog. I have many fond (nay, that’s certainly the wrong word) memories of Christmases past, such as when Dad bought the tree 14 ft tall for an 11ft ceiling and when the 3 ft was cut off the tree was now a ball.
    Yep, Merry Christmas….Happy Fkng New Year…


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