Holiday Memories by Daryna Gvozdetska

Every year I come to my parents on December 30
to meet the beginning of the new year together to spend it together. We are three. We will fall asleep half past midnight on January, 1 for the third time. Before that mommy and me will cook some usuall, each time specially delicious dishes, we will talk with father about the passing year with the glasses of champagne, listen to the accost of the president, and relax. The New Year's mood for me is not just in the process of preparing and celebration but in a long-awaited meeting with my parents too. Everything was completely different before...
This had been happening every year since 1997, when I was born, but I don’t remember that. The very first memory comes from the period I was 4. I remember the most smells, voices and tastes, by which I recreate the events. At that time, the village where my grandmother and grandfather lived, was breathing with life, the heat and family pre-holiday bustle were blowing from each house. Dad and grandfather brought on the cart a lush Christmas tree, the aroma of which filled the whole house, even the cellar got a little. Me, my uncle and aunt, who were 9 and 14 years old at that time, found in the attic 2 large boxes with the logo "Torchin" with Christmas tree toys. Shiny balls, bunnies and chanterelles, glass cones and nuts, bizarre figurines seemed to resuscitate in our hands, they charmed children's eyes. We coped with the fir tree, which adults had put in the living room, in a short time, even a golden star already flaunted on the top of the tree.
The kitchen in the house was spacious, there were two stoves, but I don’t remember what they looked like, I remember only the sounds of sizzling, boiling and mixing, the kitchen was full of. Aromas were interlaced, all the goodies were cooked by our parents and grandparents, no fabrics: baked cock with vegetables, potatoes with fried onions and bacon, olivier with chicken, pork rolls and much and much more. There was no centimeter of free space on the table, when we came to it for the quarter to midnight.
Greetings, laughter and exciting stories sounded loudly until the morning. Every room was heated, there were warm and fragrant in each one. The TV was turned off.
My aunt was going to the village disco, she did’t apply makeup, there were no cosmetics then, but she was dressing beautiful blouses in the holiday bustle, choosing the best one. In the process of that she was communicated with friend, our neighbor, who hurried to tell her all the village gossip that seemed so amusing and senseless to my childish ears. From time to time I asked my aunt to take me to dance too, her refusals were frustrated, but my sadness was passing after eating one more sweet canned apple that my mother brought to me.
It was the happiest New Year. Incredibly delicious and warm New Year. This was a real holiday.
It's a pity that such a kind of holiday will never happen in my life anymore. I will never become a child. I will never go to the disco in my native village again, there are no more than a hundred of elderly residents there today, the club is closed. I will never return to life my grandmother and grandfather.
We are three. We will fall asleep half past midnight on January, 1 for the third time. Before that we will cook tasty dishes with mom and fill three glasses with champagne, turning on the TV to listen to the accost of the president...