She: Being Yourself- Kathy DeNicolo

She was four when she left the Naples dock with her brother and her mother in 1930. Her name was Giuseppina. Two weeks later, she walked off the boat into New York, and her name was Josephine. She was no longer a child.

She had begun the hard job of being a woman, an interpreter, worker, student, ally, wife, mother, and grandmother. Of all the roles embodied, she enchanted the youngest children and most fragile aged when she became the architect of the Christmas Village.

The village chronicled our past lives. The remembered homeland towns, farms, cradles, and processions. The not-to-be-forgotten names of aunts and uncles, grandparents, sisters, brothers, cousins, and friends. She remembered and recited the stories of people and places as she planned the Christmas Village. I remembered the Christmas cookies worth waiting a year to enjoy and the hot chocolate. She planned Christmas past,present, and future.

How did Christmas Village grow from 3 to 10 feet across the living room? Hopes and dreams were intertwined. The little cottage by the lake found its place, as did the boat and convertible car. The church on the hill was near the ski lift and the skating pond. The inn for friends to stay when they visited was close to the waters that would bring loved ones home. Over the years, she struggled to build the magical village to life yet again.

One day, friends would ask, “Do you remember the Christmas Village?“ I do remember. I’ve parceled a starter set and given a package to loved ones. Why? For things remembered, forgotten, and hoped for. Mostly, for a four-year-old girl who was the wisdom of the ages by any name. She was my treasured mother.